


Save Me

by deandeanthekillingmachine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety, BAMF!Cas, BAMF!Dean, College AU, Cop AU, Cop!Dean, DJ!Castiel, Depression, Drug Use, Human AU, Law Enforcement, M/M, Murder, PTSD, Smut, Sometimes Fluff, Sometimes angst, Student!Cas, Torture, Undercover!Dean, assassin!cas, hipster!cas, religious cult/mafia, starvation and food torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandeanthekillingmachine/pseuds/deandeanthekillingmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jo this is a bad idea. Like really bad." Dean's head was pounding. He could already hear the pulsing beats of auto-tuned electronic crap pouring out the dingy door to the exclusive Club, Purgatory. Jo ignored Dean, striding right inside, guns blazing, metaphorically of course. Her guns were safely hidden under the baggy shirt in special holsters so they wouldn’t show, yet be easily accessible. Dean jogged to catch up, smiling apologetically at the miffed looking bouncer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> No regular or frequent updates, sorry. I'm pretty busy. But I do plan big things for this verse. I have a whole plan for the plot to follow all written out already, so this will be continued pretty soon.  
> Beta'd by the best beta in the world, Sherlockian_Vortex. She is awesome and yeah. Wouldn't be able to do it without her.

            "Jo this is a bad idea. Like really bad." Dean's head was pounding. He could already hear the pounding beats of auto tuned electronic crap pouring out the dingy door to the exclusive Club, Purgatory. Jo ignored Dean, striding right inside, guns blazing, metaphorically of course. Her guns were safely hidden under the baggy shirt in special holsters so they wouldn’t show, yet be easily accessible. Dean jogged to catch up, smiling apologetically at the miffed looking bouncer.

            Inside, it was worse than Dean could have imagined. The air was foggy, it was hot, overcrowded, and to top it off, Jo had abandoned him already. Dean felt a bit lost, and a bit angry. It had been a few months since he had gone out, but surely he wasn’t this out of his element? He was Dean Fucking Winchester, and he could party anywhere anytime. Or he used to be able to. Cassie had mostly broken him out of that habit. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing at this point.  

            Dean practically ran to the bar. He shouldn’t be thinking about _her_ right now. That defeated the point of going out tonight. He was here to move on, flirt a little, and maybe get lucky. Dean pulled up the metaphorical mask, smirking confidently at the attractive bartender. He ordered a beer, pulled up a chair and took a look around the dance floor.

            The song changed, some indie crap this time, auto tuned acoustic guitar and whiny vocals that made Dean's ears hurt. Dean spotted Jo, deep in the throng of bodies. She was tangled around some redhead already. Dean was impressed. That had to be some kind of record.

            The people thrashed, sweat pouring, seductive smiles, predators and prey. It was primitive, how the people responded to the music, letting go of their inhibitions, obviously with the help of alcohol and anonymity. Dean watched the different dances taking place; a group of college girls dancing the stress away, a middle aged man eyeing a younger woman across the room, slowly snaking his way closer, a bachelor party in full swing, a fresh line of shots being laid at their table, while the waitress flirting excessively for her tip.

            Above the swirling bodies in the pit, a stage held the DJ and turntables. The song changed again, a shitty synthesized pop song this time. Well, at least he was going for a variety of bad music, not just limiting it all to one type of ear splitting atrocity. The DJ was on the opposite side of the crowded dance floor, so Dean couldn’t see him very clearly, but the man was clearly bored. Or really, he should say the kid. The guy looked to be about 18 at best, dressed in dark skinny jeans and a tribal patterned tee. He looked like any typical hipster college student, and Dean wouldn't have spared him more than three seconds of attention, except...what caught Dean's attention was his dark unruly hair, dripping, probably with sweat, since the room was hotter than hell.  

            The bartender pushed over another whiskey, adding to his tab. Dean gave her a wink, before hopping down, and elbowing his way across the room. It was time for a change in the music.

            "Hey!" He shouted, which was useless since he was next to one of the huge speakers. The man didn’t even turn, tapping his foot and looking bored. Dean considered yelling again, but didn't want to look even more like a fool than he already did. So he hid, just next to the speaker, contemplating jumping up onto the stage. He wondered if this would be allowed, or if security would drag him off.

            Why was he acting like such a coward? He needed to man up, before his man card got revoked. He knew Jo would smack him over the head, Sam would give him sad puppy dog eyes, Bobby would tell him what an idjit he was being, so he just needed to ignore these nerves or whatever and talk to the guy. Besides, Dean Winchester did _not_ get butterflies over some guy in a club. Especially not over a possible informant or suspect. He needed to get on this guy's good side, not just for selfish reasons. _You're not interested that way, Dean. You can't be. It could jeopardize everything. No getting attached now. Stop it. Man up._

            He jumped up, nearly losing his whiskey in the process, but managing to somehow not spill a drop. Sure enough, a security guard from the other end of the stage spotted him, and began to walk over, arms crossed. Dean quickly hopped over the cords and amps littering the stage. The guy looked up, but before even making eye contact, Dean shouted,

            "Hey, I'm Dean, you look bored. Can I stay up here with you? I won't bother you much." He gestured over to the security guard, now only a few feet away. The man seemed frozen, not expecting anyone to be there, or talking to him, but he recovered and thought it over for a second. He looked Dean over, appraising. Apparently deciding Dean didn't look too drunk yet, he waved the guard off. The burly man looked shocked, and a bit angry, but he backed off.

            Dean relaxed, shifting to lean against the unused amp behind him. He sipped his whiskey and tried not to disrupt the busy DJ. The man mostly ignored him, although he no longer looked quite so bored. Every few songs he would look back toward Dean, only to frown and look away. He seemed almost... confused. Dean only smirked. It was cute. _Woah, woah, what the hell Winchester? Since when are dudes cute? No. Stop that._ He studied the back of his scruffy head, imagined threading his fingers through the overgrown, damp hair. _STOP IT, DEAN._ He averted his gaze, feeling awkward and unsettled.

            Around one a.m. the guy, set the track on a two-hour playlist, and signed off from the crowd. After almost two hours, the crowd had not thinned at all, the air growing heavier with the smell sweat and beer and drunken people. Dean had caught Jo's eye and saluted her as she was dragged out the back door by the red head. She smirked, clearly about to get laid. Dean knew she would call tomorrow when she got home so he wouldn't worry.

            Now the DJ pulled up the microphone, saying,

            "Last song from me tonight. I will be here again tomorrow night, and next weekend as well. Thank you, and good morning." His voice sounded deep, broken up over the crackling microphone. Dean shivered slightly. He hadn’t been expecting that from the young man.

            It wasn't that Dean was old, he was only 26, but this guy had to be barely 18, maybe 20 at most. Dean was worried for a split second, but he wouldn't be here at this kind of job if he weren't legal. Dean downed the last of his drink, only his fourth of the night, barely feeling any effects. He approached the man, but he was already headed off the stage. Dean wondered if he should follow, unsure if the guy was just leaving him now, not really interested like he'd thought.

            He shifted uncertainly until the man reached the curtain, and turned. He looked around like he expected Dean to be right there, and then spotting Dean waved him over impatiently. Relieved, he jogged over, dodging the cords and amps again. He followed the man out into the back, to a little room. The guy grabbed his jacket, a tan trench coat, which was pretty weird considering the weather outside called for much lighter wear. It was barely September, and autumn hadn't even begun to set in.

            The man moved brusquely, efficiently. He didn’t speak or look at Dean. Dean was getting a little freaked out by now, but he followed the man out the back door anyway. He didn’t seem like a total creep anyway. He just didn’t give off that kind of vibe.

            Finally, once they were free of the pounding music of the club, the guy addressed Dean.

            "So what was your name again? It was very loud in there, I didn’t quite catch it." His voice was gavel on a summer day, deep and rough, but in a warm kind of way. Dean kept his gaze trained on the ground.

            "Dean. Dean Winchester. You are?" They stopped under the flashing neon sign for the club, and Dean faced the mystery man.

            "Castiel. Castiel Novak. Why did you want to just sit there with me?" Dean grinned at Castiel, still missing eye contact. Boy was that some name. He'd have to think of a nickname sometime. Maybe when they were better friends he could come up with one. It sounded very familiar, and Dean knew he should recognize it, especially since it was something so distinct, but for some reason he was drawing a blank. Every time he thought about it, all he got was a vague feeling his father, John, was involved somehow, which was, of course, completely preposterous. So Dean let it go, deciding not to worry about it for now. 

            "Well, you looked really bored, and I was really bored too. This isn’t my usual... kind of place. All that equipment looks pretty interesting." He leaned in slightly, "And so do you." He smiled, adding, "I don't have many friends anymore, and I dunno, you seem nice." He didn't want it to seem like he was interested quite yet. Maybe if he got to know Cas a bit. _Ooh, hey that would work for a nickname._

            "Oh. Just friends? You're sure? I was hoping you were going to ask me on a date."

            Dean's head snapped up, away from the ground and he looked right at Castiel. Blue. A blue of biblical proportions. Maybe the whiskey had affected him a little more than he thought; he wasn’t able to think anything else. Round and round his mind, one thought, barely coherent; they were just so fucking blue. They were overwhelmingly blue, and he was drowning in them. If heaven was any specific color, it was this precise shade of blue. Dean tore his eyes away, returning to his inspection of the ground, and then the lamppost.

            Castiel tilted his head curiously, like a baby bird leaving its nest for the first time; its wonder at the world it discovered knowing no bounds even if it were only looking at a plain and simple birdbath surrounded by some mediocre flowers. Dean had remained silent far too long, not sure what to say. His mind blanked out, he was so out of his depth here. Castiel's stare felt weighted. Dean could feel his azure gaze prickle over his skin.

            ".... Uh, well, I'd like that too I guess." Dean whispered eventually.

            "So are you?" Cas's head tilted the other way and he swung back and forth slightly, swishing his jacket like a five year old. His voice was blunt, but curious.

            "Am I what? Oh, oh. Yeah sure." Dean looked back up tentatively, meeting Castiel’s eyes again. He saw amusement twinkling back, despite the neutral look on Castiel's face. It didn't seem like Castiel was toying with him or found his bashfulness laughable. It was more like he thought Dean was adorable or cute or some other adjective that was decidedly unmanly and not Dean-like at all. Dean blushed, not helping his case for manliness. He wasn't usually this unsure of himself, but something about this guy threw him off his game.

            "Well, you're clearly struggling with it, so I'll help you out. Here's my cell number. Text me, okay? I won't answer, no matter who's calling. I go to the University here, so I'm very busy on weekdays. You can choose what to do first."

He pulled out a business card and gave it to Dean. Dean nodded and put it into his pocket.

            "Yeah, okay. I'm actually a grad student here. I'm teaching a few classes, too. Maybe I'll see you around." Dean's gut twisted into knots, churning, as he lied outright, looking right into Castiel's big blue orbs. _Man, he must've eaten thousands of blueberries as a baby or somethin'._

            There was an air of innocence about Castiel. He couldn't possibly know anything that would help the investigation. He was too young. Way too adorable. Naive. Dean really hoped Castiel wasn't involved. He could not imagine arresting such a helpless, curious creature. Dean felt his oversensitive way overprotective instincts kicking in. He couldn't call. He wouldn't call. Castiel didn't need to be involved in his shitstorm of a life. It was too dangerous. He prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he could keep the little hipster in a trench coat out of this somehow.

            Castiel had nodded and backed away, heading to his dorm most likely. _Oh god, his dorm. He's just a kid. I can't do it. I can't play him, too._ Dean went home, and didn't sleep one bit.


	2. College

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian_Vortex. Enjoy!

            The Professor was just packing up her laptop and class notes when he walked in. Professor Moseley was probably the scariest and most intimidating teacher any freshman would ever met, but Castiel had already had two other classes with her last year and knew she was really a reasonable, sharp woman with an acrid, yet loving tongue.

            "Boy, I think this is the first class you've ever missed. What happened? You oversleep?" Professor Moseley took in his slightly disheveled appearance, and plopped back into her chair. Castiel took the one opposite her. He set her cup on the desk, shifting some papers to make room.

            "Yes. The lack of sleep finally caught up with me I suppose. What did I miss?" Castiel pulled out the last week’s homework that was due, setting it on the pile with all the rest.

            "Well, while you were sleeping, we went over the next essay, due in two weeks, comparing contemporary and historical biblical literature. I expect this to be a full testimonio with a minimum of 4 primary sources, and at least 2 secondary sources, in text citations, whole nine yards. Length ranging from 'I spent all week plus three all nighters finishing this' to 'please god kill me now'. Due in two weeks." Missouri handed him a sheet detailing the assignment, gathered her bag and coffee and stood.

            "Wow, Missouri, look at you going light on us this time. Not going soft are you?" Castiel made sure he sounded sarcastic, but Moseley knew him well enough to know he was probably genuinely excited to write this paper.

            "Well, you better get started. Late is not an option." She sipped her coffee. "Mmm. Perfect. And it's _Professor Moseley_ to you." She seemed pleased, and not the least surprised. Castiel stood, and they walked to the door together. Castiel knew now was the time, he had to ask before the probation period ended and the classes were finalized.

            "So, Professor, I know I was at the top of your class last year, and I have quite a bit of free time this year, and I know that your TA for your freshman Religious Studies 101 class has backed out recently... I was wondering if the position was still open?" Castiel stopped in the hallway. Missouri locked the door and started towards her office. She seemed to be thinking it over.

            "Say, boy, what do you have going on now? Any classes to get to this afternoon?" She turned a corner sharply, expecting Castiel to keep up with her brisk pace, which he was by now quite used to. Castiel began to worry. He had been really hoping to TA for Moseley. No other teacher was as good as she was. He hadn't actually really considered her turning him down. He was the best and he knew it.

            "No. Nothing at all." Castiel kept his face and voice neutral, a clean slate.

            "Well, good, I have to get you caught up on the last week. Also, you should meet your own TA. I introduced him today to your class, but _someone_ was getting his beauty rest. We're having lunch together today to discuss those essays. I sent him off halfway through class to struggle with the tech guys over my printer for me." Missouri was really laying on the sass now, but she knew Castiel could take it.

            "Okay. Sounds good." Castiel trailed along behind her. After stopping at her office to drop off her extra things, and pick up the materials Castiel would need, they proceeded to the cafe on the north campus. Along the way, Missouri began telling Castiel all about his TA.

            "He's from Kansas, so he's got quite the southern drawl, and he's a pretty boy no question about that, but I think you'll like him. He has raw intelligence. He's a bit older, a grad student, but he'll do just fine. I think I'll need to keep him in line though. Troublemaker type he is. But sharp as a tack. Doesn't take any sass from me; I like that. He gives it right back. Like you." She patted Castiel's cheek, a gesture not meant to be patronizing, but mothering. She somehow knew Castiel was lacking in that department, despite how he never told anyone and desperately tried to hide it.

            As a freshman, Castiel had been awkward, naive, and fragile, basically a complete loner. He had thrown himself into his studies, not doing much else. Being a Religious Studies Major, with a minor in Literature, Missouri had been his professor for both his first and second semesters, being one of only two Religious Studies teachers at their little city university. She had bonded with Castiel, her top student; she brought him out of his shell a bit more. He was initially surprised when she had asked him to come by, just to talk. They talked about classes, religion, human nature, and the non-understandable complexities of people that Castiel struggled with so much.

            She had never pressured him to talk about things he wasn't comfortable with, though. Whenever they broached the topic of family, Castiel would change the subject, and although the Professor saw right through him, she never said a word about it. Her wit and sharp eye had helped Castiel come out of his shell. He made some friends among the religious studies department, and had found a job to help take up his time and provide some extra money. Scholarships only go so far.

            They reached the cafe around noon, and grabbed a table by the window. Castiel removed his coat, and sat across from Missouri. Her other TA wasn't here yet. After getting drinks, and being updated on Missouri's freshman classes, the other TA finally showed.

            "Hey Professor Moseley. Turns out your instructions for how to get here weren't exactly crystal clear." They guy plopped into the chair next to Castiel. Castiel stiffened. He knew that drawl. It was that guy. That guy he had hit on last weekend at the club. _Oh shit._ He turned and met the green eyes. _Bad idea, now I'm stuck._

            "Heyyy... Cas? Nice to see ya again, man." Castiel blinked. _Cas?_ _What? Green. Whoa, freckle alert. Greeeeeen._ Apparently he had been staring, slack jawed for a few minutes too long, because Dean shifted awkwardly, and his eyes flicked to Moseley and then back.

            "Yes... um, hello, Dean. It is good to see you again. But you did not text me." He frowned and finally broke away, turning to glare at his water, as if the bendy straw, bent to a perfect right angle, had personally offended him. That was why he had been grumpy all week. The cute guy hadn't texted him. The bad mood had messed with his sleep, too. He was just starting to feel better, and now here Dean was, in his stupid attractive Henley and stupid attractive dark denim jeans with stupid biker boots and his stupid perfect hair and stupid freckles and his...

            "So, you two know each other already? Great. You're gonna be spending a lot of time together now. You two are my only help this semester. You okay, Castiel? Drink some water, boy before you pass out." Cas obeyed, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Dean wasn't helping, sitting very close by in the crowded cafe. Cas pushed his glasses further up his nose, a nervous habit. Missouri's sharp eyes picked up Castiel's discomfort right away, but she knew better to than to ask, and launched right into her curriculum overview.

            After Moseley had finished eating and gone over everything she needed to with both of her new TA's she packed up and left, eyeing them both, and being deliberately cryptic and suggestive.

            "Well, Cas, it was nice seeing you. I guess I'll see you on Wednesday then?" Dean seemed like he was in a hurry to leave. He hadn't even finished his burger. He was already standing, and Cas wasn't sure what exactly to do about it. So he might have mumbled a 'goodbye, Dean' and he thinks he shook Deans hand? Maybe. It's all just a daze, and then Castiel was in the library, hiding in his corner, the place he always goes to work, and forcing himself to put Dean Green-Eyed Winchester out of his mind.

           

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

            Tuesday night, the next night, Anna and Gabriel both come over. Castiel wasn't sure whether he should be happy or scared, so he's a little of both. They barged through his dorm room door, and thankfully his roommate, Chuck was already gone for the night. Come to think about it, Chuck was nearly always gone so it wasn't much of a surprise. Gabriel jumps on his bed while sucking a lollipop, and Anna goes over to his wardrobe, and started pulling out blazers and jeans. When he saw her pull out his nicer stuff, he knew why they were here.

            "No. NO, NO, NO! NO! I won't go. You can't make me. I already work there; I don't need to be there any more than necessary. Please." Castiel's phone buzzed, so he pulled it out and flipped it open. Reading the text he froze, barely listening to Gabe as he wheedled.

            "Awww but baby bro, you need to get laid. Like yesterday. But today will have to do. Please? For me? I want to find you your knight in shining armor." Gabriel's eyes twinkled as he teased, but Castiel knew how stubborn Gabe could be.

            "You will owe me. Until the end of time. Forever. I hate that place and you know it. Actually, no, I won't not even for you. Nope." Castiel turned and intensely stared at his textbook without actually reading anything. A pale hand pulled his arm away.

            "Please? Castiel, we don't have to go to the club if you don't want to. We can go other places. But we need to do something. We miss you. We never see you anymore." _Goddamnit._ Castiel never could say no to Anna. He gave her one last pleading glance before sliding off the bed. He replied to the text with a frown on his face, and felt irritated at the injustice of fate. But family came first, and he so rarely saw them.

            "Where did you have in mind?" He sighed in resignation. Resistance was futile.

            "I know this cute bookstore in the city that's having an event tonight with some famous author, and we can get dinner after if you want." That was much more Castiel's style, so he smiled, and picked out his favorite blue sweater. It matched his eyes, or so he had been told.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

            The bookstore also happened to be a coffee shop, with ratty couches and love seats scattered between the aisles of books, and a small stage over by the Baristas bar with tables scattered about. The walls were wallpapered in graffiti and posters of various bands. Castiel, as somewhat of a musical expert, was pleased to find a wide variety, including his personal favorites. He spotted Kansas, Floyd, The Beatles, Del Ray, The Xx, and even Lorde, The Neighborhood, and Empire of the Sun. Unfortunately he also saw Katy Perry, Miike Snow, and the tip of AC/DC peeking out. The clearing in front of the stage was filled with people. This must be a pretty decent author to have such a large turnout, he supposed.

            Castiel grabbed a book, and squeezed past people to an empty couch. He started reading, and found the author not to be too terrible. Just as he was getting into the action, a warm body plopped down beside him, legs brushing together due to the tiny size of the couch. Castiel smelled a pleasant musk, and turned to find himself inches away from one Dean Winchester.

            "Thought you said you were busy tonight? Just didn't wanna come here with me, huh?" Dean smirked, and drawled. Castiel blinked in surprise (he seemed to do that an awful lot lately) and put a bookmark in the book to hold his place.

            "No, it wasn't that, I was simply invited here by my brother and sister first. It had nothing to do with you. Although, why are you here? Did you follow me?" He squinted at Dean suspiciously, subconsciously shifting away from Dean and pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. Dean just laughed, a full throated, head tipped back, gleeful laugh.

            "Nah... Man, I was just teasin ya. Actually, this is where I was gonna bring you tonight. My brother happens to be... uh, a huge fan of the guest of honor here, so I was obligated to come, and I thought you might like to join us." Dean looked right at him, and Castiel relaxed, sensing he was being genuine.

            Eventually, they fell to talking about books, not a very safe topic for Castiel, because he was very strongly opinionated. He hoped he didn't scare Dean away. He liked to think he was simply passionate, but many people had been offended by his critical bashing of their favorite books before. Before he knew it, a tall, handsome man was hopping up onto the stage, and welcoming everyone. The lights dimmed slightly and Castiel focused on listening to Samuel Wesson talk about how he wrote his books and what inspired him to go into the crime/horror genre.

            Castiel tried. He tried valiantly to focus on the speaker. But Dean was pressed so close, and the scent and warmth he felt through his jeans was overwhelming. His senses were hyper aware of Dean beside him. Before he knew it the hour was up, and he released the breath he had been holding. Jumping up, he hastily muttered goodbye and nearly sprinted out of the store. 


	3. Being Undercover Sucks, Basically

Dean's life was quickly becoming a complete and utter disaster. It was all because of that Castiel guy. Dean just didn't know what to do anymore. He had tossed the guys number on the floor of his apartment, somewhere near the garbage can, and tried to move on with his life. It was for the best. He didn't get very far, only to lunch the following Monday, where, when he finally found the damn cafe, he found Moseley sitting across from the baby in his trench coat.

            Castiel had been cold, distant, and tense. Gone was the friendly and outgoing, albeit weirdo guy who had told him to text him. And that must be why. Dean had totally blown him off, and now he was pissed. Well, that was too bad. Dean refused to start something with someone who could only get hurt, even killed, by association. So, with a friendly 'Seeya Cas,' he shot out of his chair, and ran back to the safety of his Baby. Of course that plan of avoidance lasted all of half an hour.

            As soon as he reached Bobby's office, he was greeted with a ginormous file and a gruff, "Sit your ass down, boy." Jo was already flipping through her copy, and Dean hurried to catch up.

            "So I finally got those dumbasses to put together the family profile of our suspects. It's insanely long, so get comfortable." Bobby fiddled with the computer, pulling up the first picture.

            "We'll start here. Gabriel Milton. 29 years old. Gemini. Student at the University. Half-brother and pariah to Michael and Lucifer Morningstar, our main suspects. And that's all we've got. Guy's clean; no criminal record, no school record, not even a detention. Not even a parking ticket. Though, he does buy what should be an illegal amount of candy. It's sickening. Next up, Anna Milton, 24." Bobby pulls up a stunning redhead's photo.

            "Now, Anna ain't so clean. We've got a couple of charges for resisting a police officer. She's the protester type. Hates authority. Will not listen to any direction given by anyone. I think her latest arrest had something to do with animal testing? Is known to have had a large, very public falling out from her brothers, our suspects. And last but not least, the baby of the 'family', Castiel Novak, 18." Bobby pulls up the picture, and Dean felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Dean froze, his arm halfway through his hair. _It's not possible. No fucking way. No. Absolutely not. God please, no._

            Bobby raised his eyebrows, and swiveled in his chair to face Dean. Dean gulped for air, calming down. He sat back down and Jo gave him a concerned glance at the gasping.

            "Well? Care to explain?" Bobby is not amused. He obviously could see it written all over his face. Dean was such an open book, and no matter how hard he tried to guard himself and put up a façade, Bobby could always read him. Shit, Dean couldn’t lie to Bobby. Never could. Not when Bobby raised him, and not now.

            And so, Dean had been forced to admit he had met Castiel. And talked with Castiel. And gotten his number... Bobby's eyebrows were sky high by that point.

            "Didn't know you swung that way, kid, but alright. Here’s how we play this. You're gonna text him, and date him. And find out all you can on his dirt bag brothers. You got me?"

            "I don't 'swing that way' and I would feel bad about playing him. He doesn't know anything. The family split up before he was old enough to know anything. He's probably been isolated from it his whole life." Dean slouched down into his chair. He knew Bobby meant business. If this was the only lead... He might not have any choice.

            "Dean. I know for a fact that you have swung that bat in both directions. Multiple times. I have seen you. You are basically my brother. We used to live under the same roof. Don't bullshit us anymore. You need to do this. We need any information we can possibly get." Dammit, Jo was throwing him under the bus. And just like that, Dean Winchester was no longer a fully closeted bisexual. But she was right. They were both right. He had to get over himself. This case was too important.

            And so he had texted the kid. The 18 year old, barely legal kid, asking him on a fricken date. Thankfully he had said no. So, Dean decided to go to his brothers’ book talk alone. Sammy needed the support anyway.

            And now here he was. Looking across the room at that perpetually ruffled head, bent over some book, in his ratty trench coat, sitting on an even shabbier couch. As luck would have it, he wouldn't need to chase down the kid to question him. He was right here. Dean went over, intending to charm his pants off. Maybe not literally, though. He wasn't some old perv. He wasn't even that old. It was only an 8-year age gap. _Oh god, that's actually a lot, holy shit._

            He went over, intending to get the questioning over, hopefully subtly enough to keep his cover intact, and then get out of there before he did something stupid. Stupid like fucking the guy roughly up against the stupid indie music posters, like the one with a triangle horribly photo shopped onto an orange beach that the guy was probably a fan of. He wanted to. He felt the pull like he hadn't for months, not since Cassie had shattered his heart. He wanted to run his fingers through that soft, sex hair that he spotted from far across the hazy club that night. But he couldn't.

            He already felt sickeningly guilty over lying to the guy at all, and to pursue a relationship of any kind, even physical, would be so unfair to Cas. Of course he might as well have just worn a tee shirt saying, 'I'm undercover' because one of the first things out of his mouth is nearly saying he's the authors brother. He saved his cover quickly by saying his brother was a fan, which he was, Sam just happened to be a fan of himself. He hates himself for lying. The loathing settled in his chest, and he could barely breathe around it.

            But somehow, instead of talking about the guy’s insane brothers, they ended up talking about books- what a surprise there. Dean didn't have much to say on the subject; besides 'ya don't mess with Vonnegut'. Thankfully, the kid didn't mess with Vonnegut, so Dean sat back and watched the guy talk animatedly. His whole face lit up, and he gesticulated wildly. He pointed to the bookshelves, the books, himself, even Dean, and he seemed to never run out of things to say. He seemed to have read every book in the whole damn store. He was beautiful, and Dean was content watching him gasp for breath between rants, pulse beating steadily in his neck. Dean was close enough, thanks to the tiny couches, to feel every time Cas moved his body. They were knee to hip pressed against each other. His too long hair flopped every time he shook his head. He watched, face heating up, eyes transfixed as Cas licked his chapped lips, voice rumbling all over the place.

            All of a sudden, Sammy was up on the stage. And then the lights went down, just a bit. And so of course, the sexual tension shot up from maybe 6/10, to maybe 100/10 and Dean didn't know what to do. His leg was still pressed against Castiel's, and he could feel Cas shift uncomfortably against him, trying to put some space between them. Dean could feel him and it was driving him nuts. He just wanted to slam Cas down and have his way with him. But he couldn’t. _Goddamit, Winchester. Get a hold of yourself. You have at least a little self-control._

            An entire arduous hour later, Dean was released from his perpetually circulating thoughts when the lights came back up, and Castiel shot out of the chair. Before he could even say goodbye, Castiel was gone, out the door. _Well that went spectacularly._

            Dean made his way over to Sammy, who was signing a few books for some of the fans. He waited patiently for his brother to notice him.

            "Hey, Dean! You made it! Can you believe all the people who are here? It's packed! I wasn't expecting all this." Sam's excitement was palpable. He was nearly vibrating.

            "Yeah, Sammy, I know it's incredible. I'm proud of you, bitch." Dean mock punches Sam's shoulder, and ruffles his hair. Sam just smiles humbly and mumbled a quiet 'jerk' before turning to a short blond guy and automatically reaching to sign his book. Dean figured he ought to head out; he had a meeting with Jo in a half hour. He went outside, pulling his leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. It was very dark out, not even a streetlight to guide him to his car. Fumbling with his keys, Dean heard a noise, like someone shouting from the alley between the bookstore and the building next to it.

            Dean was prepared to ignore the sounds, he really was. Right now, he wasn't a cop; he was a college student, leaving a bookstore, heading back to campus. He had no obligation to investigate, to interfere. It would be safer both for his cover and for his body if he just kept walking. But... Dean couldn't let someone get hurt, not when he could do something to prevent it. So, he skirted the edge of the building in the pitch-black darkness, closer to the sounds.

            When he was just about to turn the corner to break up the fight, he heard Castiel whisper-shouting heatedly with a woman. So, he froze. He plastered himself to the wall. He should really go. If Castiel wasn't in danger, he would just be interrupting something personal.

            "Anna! No! You know what happened last time. I won't let it happen again. What I want does not matter whatsoever. You know this just as well as I. They kill everything we love. Neither of us can take that risk." Castiel was nearly pleading with the woman now.

            "It’s been over three years since it happened Castiel. You need to move on. Stop letting them influence you." The woman, apparently tired of the conversation, stalked out, flipping red hair over hunched shoulders. She nearly ran off to her car, leaving Cas standing alone. Dean panicked. What should he do? Should he approach? Should he slink away and pretend this never happened? Yeah, that was probably best.

            "What are you doing?" Castiel was standing right next to him. Really closely. He could feel Castiel's breath ghost across his cheek. He shivered.

            "Dude, personal space, ever heard of it? ...Um, I was leaving the bookstore, and I overheard..." Dean trailed off awkwardly, stepping out of the shadows and inspecting his feet. So much for his pretend this never happened plan. He couldn't bring himself to look Castiel in the eyes. _Dammit why did this always happen to him..._

            "You were eavesdropping on me?" Castiel sounded angry. Dean’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

            "Um, not intentionally. It was by accident."

            "Oh." Castiel frowned, deliberating over his response. "Do you have a car?" Castiel asked, seeming to accept his explanation, the adorable forehead wrinkles smoothing out.

            "Yeah, why?" Dean was confused.

            "Because my ride just stormed off angrily, and I have no way to get home now." Dean finally looked up, meeting those innocent blue eyes, and smiled.

            "Well, Mr. Novak, would you like a ride?" Dean didn't even wait for an answer; he just started walking for his car.

            "Yes. That is what I was implying. If it is not too much trouble...?" Castiel looked slightly unsure of himself now, the confident man once again slipping away to reveal the bashful undergrad. Dean didn't even answer, he just grabbed Cas's arm on his way past, dragging him along to his car. He pulled out his phone, flipping it open and speed dialing 1.

            "Hey Jo, sorry I'm not going to be able to meet tonight, can we meet up tomorrow morning maybe? Great, thanks! ...You’re the best! Aww, shut up! Don't let it go to your head; you can already barely fit through the doorway. Yeah, yeah okay, buh bye." That settled, Dean released Castiel's arm, and opened the passenger door for him.  He pushed Castiel, who seemed to be in some sort of state of shock or something, inside. He hopped in the other side, grinning.

            "1967 Chevy Impala. My Baby. She's a beauty, ain't she? In my spare time I like to fix up cars, and she's the first one I did all on my own. Rebuilt her from the ground up. Dad gave her skeleton to me before he... left." Well, that had turned depressing quickly. Castiel seemed not to notice, gazing out the window, hands clasped tightly in his lap, trench coat pulled tight around him. He was very quiet, tense, like he had been in the bookstore. Dean worried maybe he had been reading the signals all-wrong. But he hadn't been. He had been asked out by Blue-Eyes, not the other way around. Why was he so shy all of a sudden?

            "Where am I takin' ya, Cas?" They had made it to the university' s campus now, and Dean was blindly heading towards the dorms. Cas didn't answer. Maybe it was the argument with the redhead that had him so out of sorts. Dean was curious, but he really didn't want to ask just now. He would have to eventually, and he would have to write it up in his report, since he was nearly 90% sure they were talking about people their brothers had killed, and that was pretty damn important, but right now, Cas seemed really upset, and it was worrying Dean.

            Dean pulled over near one of the dorms, not sure if it was the right one or not. He should know, but he had kind of sort of maybe avoided Castiel's file completely, and so didn't know his current address like he really should. He tentatively reached out to touch Castiel's arm lightly. Castiel jumped like he'd been electrocuted.

            "What? What do you want? Where...? Oh. Oh Dean. I am sorry. I live in the next one over. I'm so sorry. I completely blanked out." Castiel shifted away from Dean like he had the plague. Dean was mildly offended. But Cas was in a bad place right now. He understood that.  Everyone had shit to deal with. He should know this more than most people. So, he pulled up outside the dorm, and opened the door for Castiel. He didn't ask or push for any explanation, he knew he would see Cas tomorrow, and maybe he could get some answers then. He still had to ask him about his brothers. _Dammit._ Cas turned and smiled from the door, a small, sad smile, as Dean pulled away. 


	4. Grumpy Cas is Adorable- It Is Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas deals (or doesn't deal) with his traumatic past

Wednesday morning came all too soon. It wasn’t worry or dread that kept him awake all night, but an unending slideshow of horrific memories. Drifting off was impossible when all he could hear was the splatter of blood, and all you could hear was high-pitched screams. 15 years of witnessing or participating was a long time, and the memory bank was full, and not willing to be repressed in any way. Sweat trickled as he thrashed against the constricting sheets. Just as he would begin to calm down, pulse dropping and eyes shutting, his mind would get away from him again. Not even one a. m. cups of tea were helping. Castiel didn’t find peace until nearing four a. m. 

            Class started at ten, so waking up at nine was nearly impossible. But, he had duties to attend, and he had already missed one class. Not bothering with his hair or face, besides a half-hearted attempt at smoothing down his tangled hair after a rushed shower, he pulled on a sweatshirt and the closest pair of jeans. Double, and then triple checking that he had all his papers for the day, Castiel made his way outside. It was really cold for September, just in the low sixties. Castiel shuffled his way down to the cafe. Three coffees in hand and fifteen minutes later he was on his way. Checking his phone he saw he was going to be quite a fewminutes early. Exactly how he liked it.

            Of course, Missouri herself was the only one to beat him to the small classroom they met in. Without a word (neither were morning people) he handed her a coffee and took his seat in the front row. Chugging at his first coffee, he turned and pulled out the homework due. Not even needing to ask, he started the pile on the corner of the Professors desk. He returned to his coffee, pulled out his book and pen, and then held the paper cup with both hands, like a precious and coveted gem. Drawing from the cup frequently, Castiel spent the next ten minutes zoning. Slowly the rest of the class filed in. Castiel, caught up in his thoughts, never noticed them. 

            The day after the dreams, or memories, was always somehow worse than reliving those moments themselves. Castiel felt numb. Blank. His thought cursor was blinking, but all he could think about was his failures, and that never led anywhere good, so he had to settle for not thinking anything at all. It was exhausting. Physically, he needed a few more hours of sleep, but mentally it was as if he had been awake for three or four days now, and he was shutting down. When he hit a low point, not thinking and thinking were equally exhausting and destructive, and it was exhausting to have to do either. Sleep, was a release. An escape. He wasn’t responsible for functioning.

            But somehow, and he wasn’t quite sure how this worked, he was here, and awake, and he had no choice but to function. It was a mystery how he got here with no will power whatsoever. Zoning out was like mindlessly watching a blank word document, with just the cursor. It pops in and out of existence, waiting for you to hit the keys and create something. Nothing exists unless you want to hit the keys. You don’t exist. 

            Someone plopped down into the seat next to him, scant inches away. A scent wafted over, oil, grease, but warm and homey, like a fresh apple pie, or a fire.

            "Heya Cas." Dean. Of course. Despite his absent emotions, Castiel knew he should feel bad or embarrassed or  _something_ about the night before. But he didn’t. He also was decidedly not in the mood to talk, or even look at anyone else. He just wasn’t in the mood to exist at all right now.

            "Is that for me? I see you got one for the lovely Prof and your gorgeous self; is that one for the charming and oh-so-hard-working TA by any chance?" Dean was grinning at him, he could tell, he could feel it. He still refused to look over, although Dean really didn’t seem to mind one bit. He was obviously a "morning person". His chipper attitude grated on Castiel’s ears.

            "No." He managed to growl, and clutched the second coffee possessively. HIs hands were so cold, and the paper cup insulated absolutely nothing. The warmth felt distant, though. 

            "Whoa, okay, I see how it is." Dean held up his hands defensively, and then settled in, pulling out a stack of papers, fresh from the copiers, and his own book. "Guess you must really love your caffeine then, huh? Guess I can understand that. I wont share my pie with anyone at all in this entire universe, not even Sammy, my brother. Not even for his ridiculous puppy dog eyes. Seriously, they are ridiculous. The kid gets away with everything with them…" Dean chucked good naturedly.

            Just then, Professor Moseley stood, and the class fell quiet. She had a power point pulled up, and after stifling a yawn, she started her lecture. Castiel carefully took notes, pointedly trying to ignore the heat he could feel radiating from the veritable furnace of a man next to him.  _Don’t look, don’t do it, no, bad Castiel, you can do this, its only an hour, don’t look…._

            Mindlessly Castiel copied the notes. He already knew most of what Missouri was teaching the class, having read the book they were learning out of from over the summer already. He kept up his mantra, all the way until the last ten minutes of the class. Damn his will power, or lack thereof. He snuck a glance. Just a peek. But it was a mistake. Of course.

            Dean fucking Winchester slouched in his chair, legs splayed, head tilted back. His brown leather jacket hung off the back of the chair. The fluorescent lighting made his face skin unusually pale, and his freckles were jumping off his face. His jeans were torn, and an inch too long, pooling over the top of his heavy boots. His Zeppelin tee shirt was a full size too small, but he looked like he could care less, perfectly comfortable with the black fabric stretched tight over his shoulders. The fucker had one hand running through his hair, resting on the back of his head, and the other held a pen up to his lips. He was chewing on the cap. The pen pushed the full lower lip down slightly and Castiel could see it shine slightly. Reflexively he licked his own lips.

            Dean was clearly not paying any attention at all. His eyes were trained on Castiel. Unwavering, they caught the flush creeping up his neck and the not so subtle reaction. Dean grinned, and reached over the two inches separating them and poked Castiel in the shoulder with the very pen that had moments ago been in his mouth. Castiel, having quickly forced himself back to the lecture’s conclusion, jumped in shock. He leveled a glare at Dean, but Dean grinned cheekily back at him, completely unperturbed.

            Castiel dutifully wrote down the homework, and sat back to drain the second coffee. With his arm crossed over his chest he slouched grumpily while waiting for the lecture to end. With the second cup kicking in, he felt slightly less abysmal. Slightly. He figured it would take more coffee than there was in the whole cafe to make him feel wholly human again.

            Class ended, and Castiel got up to toss out the cups. He stopped at Missouri’s desk on his way back to his chair. There was a small queue of students asking her questions so he just patiently waited for her to finish.

            "You look like hell. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you dare lie, you know I’ll know if you do. I’m practically psychic." Missouri was in her usual no nonsense mood today. Castiel sighed.

            "It’s the memories again. Can’t sleep." Missouri would know what he was talking about.

            "I keep telling you, I know a woman who sees PTSD patients and some other troubled kids. She’s young, but an old student of mine who took some religion classes while getting her Psychology major. She is also a friend of mine. You’d like her. Very straight forward. Cuts through the bullshit." Missouri was always trying to get him into therapy. But he wasn’t crazy, he just needed to deal with his shitty past and move on. Castiel looked down, wavering. He really needed sleep, and he really needed to move on. He didn’t see how a complete stranger could help this. But Missouri was persistent.

            "I’ll think about it." He finally met her eyes, but regretted it instantly. She could see through him in an instant.

            "Not good enough. Here’s her number. You’re gonna call her or I will. I need you in working condition, and not just for my class." Missouri glared as she scribbled the number down. Castiel had the presence of mind to look sheepish. He slouched his way back to his seat after mumbling a ‘thank you, _mom_ ’. He could hear Missouri grin as she yelled at him for sassing her.

            Dean was still at his seat, apparently waiting. Castiel’s small smile from talking with Missouri melted away. He stopped just short of his chair.

            "Look, Dean, um… thank you for the ride last night. I was a bit out of it, so thanks, and sorry I acted really weird. But… uh, yeah." Where was his eloquence and fancy words now, huh? He spoke like a damn thirteen year old. What was he supposed to say anyway? Thanks for taking me home, if you hadn’t I might have ended up sitting comatose in the rain in that alley reliving flashbacks to when I used to torture people for a living? Not very likely.

            "I’m also sorry for refusing you the extra coffee this morning, and being so rude. I was having a bad morning."  _Now! Do it now! Ask him to coffee! This is you chance of a lifetime! Do iiiittttttt! Grow a pair Castiel! Man up and ask the SOB._

"I was wondering…." He trailed off, blushing, unable to finish his sentence.  _Fuck, I can’t do this. Fucking it up again._

            "Well, why don’t you tell me what you were wondering about on the go, okay? I have an appointment at noon, and I could really use some coffee. C’mon Cas." Dean apparently was strapped for time, and he grabbed Castiel’s bag and sleeve and towed his stunned ass out the door.

            "And, look, I know you were having a shit day, and I get that, I really do. I have ‘em all the time. It’s fine. We’re cool." Dean strolled along the hall, handing Castiel his bag. Castiel struggled to keep up and put it on simultaneously. Dean held open the door for him, obviously mocking the gentlemanly gesture.

            "After you, miss." Castiel scowled almost as fiercely as Dean was smirking. The walk was quieter, Dean only commenting a few times on the weather, or expressing disgust over each Prius that drove by.

            "It’s not even a car! It’s pathetic, Cas! A Prius! Who on earth willingly drives a thing like that?!?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. Cas rolled his eyes, but laughed. It was surprisingly easy to relax now. As anxious as he was about being around Dean, the man had a way of putting him at ease. Dean didn’t expect anything from him. He just chattered away about his car, or his brother, or their classes, and Cas didn’t have to worry about adding to the conversation.

            When they reached the coffee shop, Cas held the door open for Dean this time, grinning wickedly.

            "Allow me,  _ma’am_.” Dean’s eyes widened in shock, rather comically. His mouth worked open and shut for a minute, before he exploded.

            "Ma’am?  _Ma’am_?!?!? Cas, that sounds so  _old_! At least I made you a young lady, not old. You know who gets called ma’am? Moms. Grandmothers. Not young blondes such as myself!” The last part was said with a dramatic imaginary flip of his ‘hair’, as he stormed off through the door. Cas was smiling hard enough to split his face in half, and he was shaking trying to hold in the laughter. 

            "Wow, Deanna, such a drama queen, aren’t you?" He teased. He could see Dean was barely able to keep the smile off his face, lips twitching as he sniffed primly and looked away.

            "I’m hurt, Cas, I truly am. Now go buy this old woman her coffee. Black, with sugar." Dean broke into a grin and sat at a table. Cas grinned and went to get the coffee, not even caring that technically Dean had asked him here, so he should be paying. He would make Dean pay next time.  _Whoa there. Next time?!?! This isn’t even an actual date! Who knows if there will be a next time._

Cas secretly, not even admitting it to himself, hoped there would be a next time. Dean had cheered him up, when nothing else could. He was amazed that after just the short walk with Dean his black mood had lifted. And Dean had asked him out. Sort of. He wasn’t sure how official this was. Dean hadn’t texted him, even when Cas had practically ordered him to, so that sort of indicated he wasn’t interested. Yet, here he was. Sitting next to him, joking around with him, even maybe flirting a little? Cas thought about the pen cap and flushed. Dena was definitely teasing him there, but he still wasn’t sure where he stood.

            When the coffee was ready, he took all three cups over to Dean, and sat across from him.

            "What’d you get?" Dean asked.

            "Ah, I got a black coffee and a green tea. Tea is for after the coffee. I still need the caffeine, but I really love the tea, so…." Cas clamped his hands around the cup again, and stared at them intently. Dean chuckled.  

            "That’s reasonable, I guess. So, anyway, I’ve been wondering… what’s your major?"

            "Religious Studies and Sculpture Double Major. I’m really into Renaissance art, and that has a very religious tone to it, plus my family was very religious, so I figured I’d study both. What about you?" Cas put his coffee down, and pulled his sleeves over his hands in a nervous gesture.

            "Well, technically I’m a Mechanical Engineering Major, but every elective I’ve taken has to do with religion. I mean, I’m atheist, but my mom was really devout, and its always sort of fascinated me." Dean looked sad for a moment, but shook it off.

            "Why do you moonlight as a club DJ?" Dean changed the subject.

            "Money. Also, I’ve run a mildly successful podcast thing for years, so the technology and music comes really easily to me. I mean, I hate the crap I have to play there, but… whatever. They’re paying me, so." Cas shrugged. He leaned back into his couch-chair.

            "So what do you like?" Dean seemed curious, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s face.

            "Uhhm… this and that. Top three? Maybe… The Neighbourhood, Zeppelin, and uh… Lorde’s doing some cool stuff right now. Pink Floyd is another favorite." Cas knew his choices were a bit eclectic and rather contradicted each other. 

            "Hmm… well, never heard of Lorde or The Neighbourhood, but I love Floyd and Zeppelin, obviously." He gestured towards his chest, stretching the material even tighter. Damn him.

            The next twenty minutes consisted of Dean thoroughly describing why the seventies were the best musical era, and Cas countering with a few examples of decent modern alternative music. Eventually, Dean wore him down, and coerced Cas into telling his podcast name. He even wrote it down. Cas was mortified.

            Eventually the conversation flowed to family, and Dean talked about his brother Sam endlessly.

            "You seem very proud of him. Stanford is a huge accomplishment. I’m sure he’ll be very happy there. And he’s already accomplished so much! What’s his penname? I’ll look it up when I get home; maybe I’ve read some of his work." Cas admired the way Dean’s green eyes sparked when he talked about his brother. He clearly loved Sam very much. Cas wished he could relate. 

            "Ahh, well…actually, look at the time! I have to run. This was seriously fun, though. I’ll definitely text you- for real this time- and we could hang out again, if you want." Dean stood quickly, and Cas followed him. It was indeed only a quarter to twelve. Cas frowned. He didn’t want Dean to leave. But, they parted ways, Cas heading back to Missouri’s classroom to get some work done before her afternoon class he was TA for. It was going to be a very long day.

 


	5. Super Secret Agent Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's case progresses, but his cover may have been blown into smithereens

Dean hopped into the Impala and drove over to the office **,** which was disguised as a church. It was a certain amount of ironythat they had found the basement of the local Baptist church was up for rent. Their division was coded the Hunters, and Dean and Jo were nicknamed Hell Hounds 1 and 2. They had set up down there, just a few desks and computers and phones, and a twenty year old coffee maker that, of course, made the worst sludge known to man. Dean, Jo, Bobby, Victor, Meg, Ash, and Kevin all had desks, but Bobby, the chief, was the only one with a room around his.

            When he slunk down the external stairs, and into the basement, he found Jo, standing by his desk, waiting.

            “Bobby’s in his office, he wants to speak with us.” Jo looked concerned, a tension running through her. He wondered if something was wrong.

            “Okay, I’ll be right in. Lemme just file this daily check in report, kay?” Den held up the filled out piece of bureaucratic crap he was required to turn in daily.

            “Alright.” Jo went into Bobby’s ‘office’. Dean grabbed a pen, wrote his name at the top, and then strolled over to the filing cabinet. On the way there, he passed Kevin and Victor crowded around a computer with Ash typing away furiously. He wondered if they were onto something. They were the Bloodhounds, and Ash was Dr. Badass. Meg, The Demon, was nowhere in sight. She was in charge of their armaments, and their contact point with upper management. Ash was their off base tech dude. At the moment, Jo and Dean were the undercover, and Victor and Kevin were the aboveground, official investigators, tracking the various syndicate members and their illicit activities from the outside.

            He filed the paper and went straight into Bobby’s office, which was in actuality just a large renovated supply closet. He shut the door behind him, and sat in the chair next to Jo.

            “Boy.” It was all the hello he was going to get. He nodded in response.

            “You remember why we put you under in the school, right?”

            “Bobby how could I forget? Of course I remember.” This was his job after all.

            “Alright then. So how many suppliers and buyers have you identified?”

            “Want the list in alphabetical or chronological order?”

            “Don’t get smart with me. Chronological.”

            “After establishing myself in the classes, and the dorm, I asked around. My roommate, Chuck, is actually a pretty big buyer. He directed me to his seller. Woman named Ruby. Met her, got the vibe she was a recruit straight from high school. She’s young, sharp, definitely not a user herself. Then I’ve been pretty busy with classes and stuff, so I only got out to one party last weekend. Scored Castiel Novak’s number, and met three doped up cheerleaders from the university, said they got ‘em from a guy named like DJ or something. Guy turned out to be really, really weird, a user himself, bought it from a guy named Ion. I have yet to track down Ion. Went on a sort of maybe date with Cas, too. All I got about his family is that they are “super religious” which we already knew. I mean, every single one of them named for an Angel? Yeah, anyway, that’s it. Not bad for one week, right? Plus on top of all that, I wrote a paper, and graded about a million homework assignments, and helped Missouri plan next week, and made it to all my classes.” Dean smiled smugly. He knew he was on top of things.

            Bobby leveled him a look. He seemed to be thinking things over.

            “Harvelle. Report your week.” Dean knew not to take it personally.Bobby would tell him what was up soon enough.

            “Well. My week wasn’t nearly as fruitful as Mr. Perfect over there, but I did get a lot out of the athletic teams. It seems a few of them have been slowly loosing members to steroid abuse. Either injury or discovery. I made a few contacts with them. Some were getting from Ruby. She seems like the main boss dealer for this region. Some said their dealers worked for her, even. Anyway, roommate’s a bust. She is always studying, doesn’t talk at all, usually at library or somewhere. I dunno. She’s pretty freaky actually. Creeps me out. Weird vibes from her. I keep trying to tail her, figure out where she disappears to, but she loses me, which is ridiculous. And you know it. I’m so suspicious, but I can’t get anything on her. Whatever. That’s it.” Jo leaned back into her chair when she finished.

            “Okay. Jo, follow your gut, and your brain. I agree, the disappearing act is suspicious. Dean… Keep tabs on those dealers and buyers you found, but maybe relax on searching them out, and focus more on Novak. Kid’s a veritable wealth of information waiting to be tapped. But be careful in the extraction of the details. I don’t want your cover blown, and I definitely don’t want you killed. I know you think your hot stuff, but this child is a trained assassin who’s been bred to do this from birth. He will not hesitate to kill you, and he will do it easily. I don’t care how cute his perky young ass is, he. Will. Kill. You. Get close, but not too close. And be careful. You have the most dangerous position right now. I am trusting you to come out in one piece. You are sleeping with the enemy, kid. But please not literally. Do you understand me?”

            Dean had no choice after that speech but to salute lightly and offer a polite “Yes, Sir.” Bobby didn’t get it. He had never met the boy. But… He was right that Dean needed to be careful. It would be so, so easy to get too close, and end up seriously attached to Castiel. And if the truth ever came out- that Dean was trying to destroy his family- Dean was sure he would never forgive anyone that, so he would understand if Cas hated him after.

            Jo and he went to lunch. They made plans to meet up at Purgatory again on Friday. Dean figured he would need to ask Cas if he was working that night. He didn’t want to go try to do some shady detective work right underneath the nose of his “most dangerous” operation. After lunch, Dean went back to his dorm. He knocked out some more grading, and edited his paper a bit.

            Before bed, he looked up the podcast. “Thursday” was the name Cas went by online. He actually had a pretty decent following. He logically posted once a week every Thursday. A few thousand listens on the newest posts, and the older ones were all the way up in the hundred thousands. Most featured obscure references for titles, but some just said “For Anna” or “For Gabe” or ” In Memorandum: Sam”. Dean realized the names were all siblings. The one named Sam interested him, so he clicked on that first. It was… sad. But undeniably beautiful. It was a piano sonata, a singular player, with no intro or words. But the emotion was palpable. It was haunting. At the end he head a sniffle, and Cas croaked out “This was for my brother Sam. He has passed away. I composed this for him.” Hoping for something a bit more lighthearted, he clicked on the one titled Murder. The irony, probably lost on most people, made him giggle, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

            “This is a mix I put together the other day. I dunno. Don’t take it too seriously. Don’t ask me what I was thinking when I made it, because I really have no idea.” The music began. Epic string and organ music swelled, from nearly silent to deafening. Abruptly it cut off, and was replaced after a beat of silence with an electric guitar. It made a rhythmic, repetitive up and down sort of sound, sliding all over the place. A few phrases were taken from Pink Floyd, and the epic organ music was back, crescendo-ing into a singular high note, held for a solid thirty seconds. It cut off there, and it ended.

            Dean listened to three more, mostly classic rock mixes, before falling asleep. 

            The rest of the week passed slowly. On Friday, in class, Dean sat next to Cas again. He asked about Cas’s work schedule. Finding out Cas was not working at the club, he texted Jo they were good to go. He also made plans to meet up with Cas on Sunday, the only day they both had free. He left class that day grinning like a fool. Something about Cas and his bad jokes and his… openness, made Dean want to be around him, all the time. He was like a drug. Whenever he was with Cas, he was inexplicably happy. It was so bad. Dean felt so sick inside. 

            He could either genuinely like Cas, and leave him forever, or he could not like Cas at all and get as close as he could. There was no other way. If he wanted to use Cas for information, he couldn’t do it if he actually liked him. It wasn’t fair. Because he liked Cas, a lot, he needed to get out. Now. The lying and the using and the danger it put them both in made him feel so upset. He was walking a fine line. A millimeter to either side now would cause them to both be killed. So, he held the door for Cas, and he walked the other way, until their date on Sunday.

            At the club that night, Dean and Jo split up again. Dean stood on the balcony and watched the crazed and dying young folk thrash and grind their way through the night. Jo circled the floor, sneaking in the corners, looking for someone selling the Garrisons drugs. Dean, however, realized that the drugs were not being sold on the floor. Though they were definitely being acquired here, there was a pattern to the buyer’s behavior. He spotted Ruby. He signaled Jo to follow her. She was chatting with a balding short man in a dark suit. Dean recognized him… but from where? Needing to know, he made his way down, and approached slowly from the opposite side as Jo.

            “Crowley. Just let me do my business, and let me go. We’ve been through this before. The Morning Star will not tolerate these kinds of holdups.” Crowley just rolled his eyes and continued to sip his drink. Crowley… Was the owner of the club, Dean remembered.  _Well, shit._ This was bad. If Crowley was working with The Garrison, he had to be a major player. Crowley was wealthy, ruthless, and cunning. Of course, they were currently in his territory, sipping his alcohol, trying to bust his operation.

            Crowley and Ruby got up, finally, and went back through a door next to the bar, guarded by a burly man. This followed the pattern Dean had noticed. His identified buyers were at varying intervals and for differing lengths of time, disappearing through that door, and coming out with extra bags. Which would be completely obvious and not okay, if this weren’t Crowley’s club. Crowley, who had control over the security cameras. Also, no one was going to notice if they were really high. Like a majority of the people most likely were. Dean signaled to Jo, indicating it was time to leave. He had two new dealers for his list, and now had confirmed Crowley as a major player. This operation was turning out to be way bigger than they had thought.

            Jo was getting their coats form the coat check, and Dean had returned to the balcony when he saw them. While he was playing super sleuth, the DJ had been replaced. She had sounded sick when she announced the songs, sniffling a whole lot, so he wasn’t surprised, really. No, what killed him was that it was Cas up on that stage. Cas, with an arm around none other than Ruby Cortese herself. The bitch was back, and had jumped up onto the stage when she caught sight of Cas.

            Cas was smiling, and hugging her. Dean didn’t understand. Cas was out, shunned by the family. Why would a close employee be friendly, and not trying to kill him or something? He and Ruby fell into conversation, ending when Cas apologetically gestured at the equipment. He had a job to do. Ruby left, with one extra large black purse slung over her shoulder.

            Dean wondered if he ought to hide or something. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. This could blow his cover. But… if Cas had only just gotten there, well, he wouldn’t have seen Dean acting all suspicious, right? He just had to back away from the edge slowly. Cas would be busy and not look up, right? Wrong.

            Dean didn’t move a muscle, but Cas still looked up right at him, as if he knew exactly where Dean had been the whole time. _Well, damn, now what?_ Dean panicked internally, while staring back at Cas. Cas hit another button, switching the song from some electro-pop to Ramble On. That fucker. Didn’t even break eye contact. His eyes were electric blue, even from across the room. Much like the first time, Dean felt a compelling in his bones to hurtle himself down the stairs and up the stage into those skinny arms. Only unlike last time, he simultaneously felt the urge to run as far away from him as he possibly could.

            This time, Cas was dressed all in black, more of a rocker or metal look, than a hipster. He still had the big, black idiotic looking glasses on, and his big, black stupidly fluffy hair, but now it was gelled into long-ish spikes going every which way. His black shirt was shear, more like mesh, and sparkled slightly. The sleeves were slit open on the outside, but buttoned together so they looped. He wore leather pants. Leather. Pants. Tight leather pants. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off. Especially since the mesh shirt didn’t exactly hide his body, especially details like the nipple piercing on his left or the tattoos tracing his sharp collarbones. Dean was undressing him with his eyes, and he knew Cas was doing the same to him with his eyeliner-enhanced lasers.

            Eventually, reality kicked in. Also known as Jo, slapping him silly. Jo punched his arm, and then kicked his shin. She threw his jacket at him, growling about how they didn’t have time for his “big public gay eye sex”. Dean swatted at her and ripped himself away. He made to follow her but couldn’t resist taking a peek out of the corner of his eye. What he saw made his heart constrict painfully. Cas caught his glance, and winked and saluted him. It made Dean’s blood run cold. He knew. He had been there the whole time hadn’t he? His cover was probably blown to the most dangerous and unknown piece on this metaphorical chess game. Well, balls.


	6. Cas is a BAMF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets in a fight, and pisses off some powerful people. But never fear! He is perfectly capable of holding his own in a fight.

* * *

 

Cas liked watching people. The people in Purgatory were alive, heaving breaths and laughter adding to the din. His speakers, located strategically throughout the club, were put on their maximum volume to counteract the hundreds of people shouting, screaming, and adding to the chaos. The Stage had always felt like a throne. He could control their movements with a song. Put on something fast paced or bass-y and they would go wild, animalistic, like the music. If he played heavy guitars, they would dance with smoother, less jerky motions. Play slow songs, or a song they heard on the radio way too often, and you could easily clear the dance floor. The lighting added to the chaotic atmosphere, dark as night out there, with colors flashing with the music, and of course bright as day on the Throne. It felt fitting to be seen by them but not be able to see the anonymous masses. He felt powerful.

It was painful to see Ruby here tonight. She never went far without her guardsman, who happened to be Castiel’s cousin. It was a sad reminder of his old life. But he didn't regret leaving. He knew what she was doing here. He knew what this place was. He knew he had been hired here as a favor to his mother, and also to keep an eye on him. Even when someone left, they couldn't go very far. Ruby came up to the stage, slinking through the crowd. She hopped up and stepped over to him, arm held out, as if asking for a hug. Really, it was how they displayed their lack of weaponry. Ruby was showing she was not a threat. He did the same, and so they hugged. How strange would it look for two people to approach as if about to hug, then just drop their arms when they got there? No, when in public, this move was finished by a real hug. It was ironic, because mostly, the deals went south, and they ended up stabbing or shooting each other anyway. Two enemies, forced to hug before they talk. It was a perverse tradition, made law by his mother.

In any case, Ruby even kissed him on the cheek as they parted. She smelled like sweat and cocaine. He wondered if she had passed from seller to user, which was strictly against the rules and would get her killed immediately. She knew too much to be a loose tongued junkie on the streets. In any case, it wasn't his problem anymore. He was no longer a part of this. Ruby’s red lipstick left a smear on his cheek.

After meaningless small talk and drivel and niceties, Ruby tried to sell him some coke. He politely declined. He had a well founded rule about where he procured drugs: anywhere but from her. Well, maybe that wasn't exactly right. Cas had a small- okay huge- aversion to drugs. If you grow up watching people die from it, seeing them transform from normal, healthy people into desperate, dying skeletons before they stopped coming around all together, you tend to have a pretty good aversion to the addictive stuff. But once, when he had been fresh out of the co op, new to college life, and really, life in general, he had tried some pot. He hadn't liked it much. So, he said ‘thanks but no thanks’ to Ruby, and she smiled her predator’s smile and slipped him some tiny white pills anyway, straight into his pocket. He just smiled, a closed lip smile. What was he supposed to do with the head of the local drug ring and trained assassin standing a foot from him in the middle of her suppliers club, surrounded by security and other people working for his mother? Sure, he could take Ruby, maybe even a few goons as well, but he was a year out of practice. So he just smiled tightly, and turned back to his tables.

Ruby grinned widely, as if she had succeeded at something much bigger than forcing an outcast to take some pills for no charge. She patted him on the head and left the stage, hips swaying. Cas put on a slower, thudding electric song, letting the heavy bass overtake his ears. It matched his heart beat, vibrated in his chest. It was a deaf mans dream song. He could hear it in his bones, and if everyone wasn't deaf yet, this volume would fix that. Cas felt rage seeping up through him. It was cold. He felt like an icicle in the middle of the desert. It had to be at least 90 degrees under these lights and with all these people, but his hair was raising with goose bumps. Castiel felt his adrenalin seep down, loosening his body for a fight. His eyes flickered around the room. All the security guards had come out of hiding and while most were watching the crowd still, the two at the ends of the stage were slowly advancing on him.

He searched wildly for an escape. Who knew what Crowley wanted with him. No matter what it wasn't good. And after Ruby…  Squinting through the lights, he thought he saw a familiar shape in the balcony. It couldn't be… but it was. Dean Winchester. Dean Motherfucking Winchester. What the fuck was he doing here? Now? He had said he wasn't free tonight, but maybe this was why. This was bad. Very bad. He needed to leave, now. Before things turned ugly. To let him know he’d been spotted, Cas put on his favorite song, just for a minute. The current crowd wasn't especially receptive to classic rock. Dean froze like a startled deer caught in headlights. Cas smirked up at him, to let him know he’d been caught. After a minute though, another figure, female this time, came over to Dean and kicked him. He took a jacket from her and left, breaking the weird trance they’d been caught up in.

Cas’ body was still humming with anticipation for a fight. Dean was gone now, thank god, Crowleys men could be vicious for the untrained. Cas, however, was well above them in training and experience. Sure he hadn't had a real fight in over a year, but kickboxing once a week and his own daily run had kept him within reasonable shape. The only problem was the guns and knives. But, by some unseen signal, they stopped approaching. They just stood closely and watched him work. Cas kept his pulse under check, and although he was sweating, it was from the lights and heat from the masses, not a sign of nerves. He must make no outward sign of having done more than notice. To show more reaction would be to give himself away. He had always known the danger in working in a place so close to the family, but he had figured it might have ended up beneficial in some way eventually. Evidently, that was wrong.

The time passed so incredibly slowly. All he wanted to do was go back to the dorm and sleep. He was behind on his sleep this week, and it was finally Friday. Well, now it was Saturday. He had no plans besides sleeping in and then writing his paper. He just hoped whatever Crowley wanted wouldn't endanger him. At one a. m. he put on the customary two hour playlist and signed off. Without the guards even moving, he tilted his head at the one to his right and asked,

“So. Where is Crowley?” He didn't bother asking what he wanted. He knew they wouldn't know. Or at least wouldn't tell him. They led the way, one to his front and one to his back, to the back of the main room, by the bar, and through the ‘secret’ door. The red hallway stretched all the way around the main room, and after two right turns they reached the door with Crowley’s name on it. Fergus Crowley, Owner it read in gold lettering. Inside, Castiel was shown to a chair on one side of the elaborate carved mahogany monstrosity in the middle of the lavish room. Plush black carpets, blood red walls, white chairs, golden moulding and accents. Crowley sat in a large chair, probably to make him look taller than whoever was sitting in the other chairs. Always overcompensating. Cas remembered that.

Crowley hadn't changed much. Same black outfit, same balding black hair. Same glass of fine liquor in one fist. Same soft, controlled voice.

“Well, if it isn’t everyone’s favorite childhood serial killer? Castiel.” Crowley blinked, waiting for a reaction. He got none.

“I like the new look. Very punk. ‘Ooh look at me, I’m a real teenager. Rebellion, and all that.’ Are you… Wow. Even wearing eye liner.” He swirled the rum before taking another sip. Castiel just glared. The goons had not backed off a foot. He could feel their heat at his back.

“Honestly, I’m underwhelmed. Where’s the violent and uncontrollable rage Naomi is always carping at me about, hmm?”

Smarmy British prick. Cas shifted and looked at the glass rather than his stupid, annoying face.

“Ooh, hit a mark there, huh? Mentioned Naomi, did I? No, you never did like you're handler much did you.”

“No. She was manipulative.” Castiel finally responded. His eyes absentmindedly tracked some dust floating to the ground. He shuffled his feet, rearranging them on the half a foot thick carpet. Legs apart, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Behind him he felt the men shift with him. Very wary then, he supposed. Though, Crowley looked entirely unworried by his presence. But that could be an act. Nearly everyone, once they knew who he was, or received one of his glares, felt something. Either a loss of respect or terror.

Crowley looked up through his lashes, smirk on his face. Castiel knew what he was going to say before he said it, yet he still had to steel himself.

“At least I didn't mention You-Know-Who, did I?” Then, very deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, swirled the liquor again, and smirks before saying,

“Met. A. Tron.” Despite preparing for it, Castiel’s head snapped up, eyes wide, mouth drawn in a snarl. He visibly vibrated, hands in fists. He let out a low growl in his chest. A sudden light was in his eyes, feral, wild, and broken. Rage, hot, numb, all-consuming rage paralyzed his body. Crowley let out a victorious giggle. Gleeful, at finally triggering a reaction.

“See, Castiel, I actually have a reason for speaking with you tonight. I have this… leverage. Against Metatron. Naomi and I… Have been working together to obtain it. I am, well, willing to let you in on this. I am always up to help people exact their revenge- for a price, of course. So, I’m offering a deal. Work with me and Naomi on this… enterprise, and I will grant you one favor.” While Crowley talked, Castiel thawed enough to listen. The ice in his eyes melted back into disinterest.

“What do you need me for?” Castiel didn't know how he could possibly help. He was an outsider now. He had no access to Metatron, or anyone, for that matter. But… access wasn't really needed for assassination. Which, should Crowley suggest it, would not even be considered. It was the line he wouldn't cross ever again. Sure he would spy, gather information, try to take down Metatron through legal channels or blackmail, but he would never again fire that bullet. Not for Crowley, not for himself, not for anyone.

“We just need someone, ah, willing to remove him from the equation if things go wrong. Our plan does not involve his death, but we do need a backup plan.”

“No thank you.” Castiel stood. He had never really been considering reentering this life, and certainly not to ally himself with Naomi or Crowley. Not even to take down Metatron. Knowing them, he would end up having to kill again. He would rather take Metatron down on his own, and not kill, than be the backup plan that does have to kill.

“If that was all, I’d like to go home now.” Crowley looked neither surprised nor disappointed, but thoughtful. It was worrisome, but Castiel was too tired to deal with this right now. He needed to sleep. He turned to go.

“Be careful with that delightful green-eyed boy toy. Never know who might, I dunno, use him like they used the last one.” Cas froze, back ramrod straight and every muscle pulled taut. Stiffly he turned back to Crowley. In a flash he was next to the desk, snatching Crowley’s arm and forcing it flat on the table. The goons charged, but he kicked one in the balls and shoved the chair in the way of the other. With his free hand he grabbed the silver, jewel encrusted letter opener laying on the orderly desk, and swiftly he shoved it onto the table between Crowley’s middle and pointer fingers, deep enough to catch the delicate skin, slicing into the space between the knuckles. Crowley screamed. Like a girl. Castiel, still growling, leaned in close, and whispered into his ear,

“If anyone, Naomi, you, Metatron, Zacharia - even fucking God himself- involves Dean in this, or harms him in any way, I will not hesitate to harm them. You tell them, you tell my ‘family’. Dean is under MY protection.”

“Big words, for someone who’s not been heard from in over a year. You’ve lost some street cred, I’m afraid. That protection might last for me and Naomi, and Zacharia, but Metatron knows no bounds, and God is not afraid of you.” The knife was deep into the mahogany, gouging a hole. Castiel felt bad for ruining such an expensive table. He didn't feel bad for ruining the bastard’s hand. He straightened and went over to the second good, still struggling up after tripping over the chair, and he knocked him out swiftly using a choke hold. The other was still writhing on the ground, wailing over never having children. Castiel just left him. He wouldn't be chasing him anytime soon.

Tan coat wrapped tightly against the chilly red corridor, he made his way to the end. The red tunnel was pulsating around him, with the raging pulse of the music and the heartbeats of the people inside, their blood coating the walls. Gasping for breath, holding the wall for support he made it to the end. An unguarded door awaited him, letting out into a dirty alley. Adrenalin gone, his legs felt like jelly. He nearly collapsed at the mouth of the alley, but he made it all the way to the deserted street corner before passing out. Luckily, a very suspicious cop had been watching the clubs exits from the street over, and saw him hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

Normally, dreaming was literally a nightmare. But, luckily, Castiel had passed out. Involuntary sleep had no dreams, or nightmares. For once in his life, he could sleep for a full eight hours. So that’s what he did. Only, it was more like twelve. Waking up was like a dream, though. A good one. First he sensed a breeze, and smelled fresh air, cold, but crisp. White was all he saw when he cracked his eyes open. He shifted, but he felt too sore to do much else. The white sheets were so soft, the white blankets and pillows blinded him. They were so bright. This must be what heaven was like. Blinding, clear, crisp. Fresh.

Dean’s face invaded his line of sight. Castiel’s brain supplied that yes, this was definitely heaven. The green of his eyes matched the pine scent of the room today. Dean was speaking, pink mouth forming words and moving, but none of it registered. Mesmerized, and convinced he was dreaming, Castiel remained unresponsive and motionless. And… since this was a dream, he could stare all he wanted. And now Dean was staring back, having ceased talking, looking with a quirked head, like a curious dog. And Dean sighed, and sat on the bed. Castiel never blinked, lest his dream morph into one of his blood spattered realities.

But eventually, he could only count so many freckles before messing up, and he still felt so tired, so he let himself slip back into the dreamless state. He was still convinced it had all been a dream. Or perhaps Crowley had snipers set up and Castiel had somehow not noticed them, and he really was dead. Either way, it didn't really matter. Besides, he hardly knew Dean. His reactions were disproportionate, and his infatuation ridiculous. Despite this logic, the last thought his brain registered before drifting out was of Dean’s warmth, right next to him. Unconscious of its reality, he curled towards the furnace, burrowing as close as possible.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry this is so late. Lifes been a bitch basically. But here is the latest chapter beta'd by the ever wonderful and amazing Sherlockian-Vortex (aka Lizzie). Next chapter will def be sooner; I'm on break and have much more time now. 
> 
> If anyone was wondering Cas's outfit is actually from this scene from Queen of the Damned, but with a pair of flower-y Doc Martens, and of course, at the very end he has his trusty trench coat: 
> 
> http://vampjac.com/lj/pulchritude/goth/Townsend.jpg


	7. Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is in the hospital, Dean meets the family, and Cas is an octopus. Also, Dean makes progress with the case.

 

* * *

 

Hospitals freaked Dean out. It was something about the smell, or maybe the pastel colored walls, or the overly sterile looking floors. More likely, it was the people. The nurses and doctors were nice enough, sure, but all too often there would be the tear streaked face of a child, grandmother, sister, or brother sitting on the bench in the hall. He would avert his eyes, feeling unequipped to make eye contact, or offer comfort. It was awkward, and his eyes would trace the wall instead, while he hurried along, trying to avoid such a personal moment for the other person. It felt intrusive. They weren't everywhere, but he couldn't help but fear each turn of the hallway, hoping the next stretch wouldn't have such an obstacle.

Mostly, Dean stuck to either the waiting room or Cas’s room. It had been a few hours since the kid had collapsed on the sidewalk, covered in little bruises, and splattered with blood from the elbow down on his left hand. It wasn't his own, so that had been sort of a relief, but it was someone else’s, and that raised questions. Especially with Cas’s past. The blood on his hand was both literal and metaphorical. The nurses were really cool with Dean being there, which was odd, since they weren't related, and Dean hadn't outright said they were boyfriends or anything. He may have implied it, if only to be allowed to stick around. In any case, the night shift of nurses was practically cooing over them, especially once they’d caught him holding Cas’s hand.

About an hour after being brought in and checked over, Cas had briefly woken up, but the drugs they had given him had knocked him out again pretty quick. It had been the strangest thing. For the ten minutes he was conscious, he said maybe one word, mumbled under his breath, and didn't move, save shifting his head to stare at Dean. That was real uncomfortable, having the guy stare at him like an insect or God or something. He tried talking, assuring him he was safe, and asking why he had passed out, but he was clearly not responsive. It really freaked Dean out, so he turned to go get the nurse to find out what was wrong with him, but then he heard a soft sigh, and Cas let out a murmured, “Dean” that was almost reverent. His eyes were slightly glassy, and he looked… happy? Content. Dean figured it must be the drugs. He sat on the edge of the bed with a huff. He felt so relieved, that he laid right back against the wall, and swung his legs into the bed.

Sure it was a small bed, but Cas was a small guy, and curled on his side. Plus, Dean was pretty fit himself. It was a squeeze in the small bed, but he fit. It should have been awkward, but Cas was too drugged to care, and Dean was too tired. It was maybe four a.m. at this point, and Dean was about to collapse anyway. Better in the bed with a guy he’d known for just a week than on the floor.

Suddenly Cas was an octopus, latching onto him on all sides. Cas wrapped his limbs around a surprised Dean too fast for Dean to protest, and promptly fell unconscious. Dean felt slightly uncomfortable, and his pulse raced a bit initially, but when he tried to move Cas’s legs off him, and his arms, he found that even in his sleep Cas was way stronger than he looked. He shivered and sucked it up. Besides, it’s not like it was actually cuddling. No, it was just the drugs. Dean pointedly ignored the giggles and whispers from the nurses. He also tried valiantly to ignore how nice it felt. It had been a long time since anyone had hugged him, let alone glued themselves to him like he was a space heater in the arctic. Finally he just gave in, and relaxed into it. He quickly fell asleep.

About four hours later, around eight a.m. someone flicked his ear. Multiple times. Dean twitched in his sleep, but didn't wake up. Four hours was far from enough after being awake for nearly a straight twenty four the day before. But the person was persistent, and began flicking his forehead, and eventually pinched his cheek hard enough for him to jolt awake.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He sat up, but luckily Cas stayed asleep, his arms falling loosely off Dean. He mumbled in his sleep and curled into a fetal position. Dean rubbed his cheek, now very scratchy with his stubble, and inspected the person who had woken him so rudely. It was a short, blond, pointy faced, beady eyed, middle aged, smirking bastard.

“Who’re you?” He grumbled.

“Gabriel. Cassy’s brother. You are?” Maybe the staring thing was genetic or something. However instead of Castiel’s curious gaze, this one felt more like an inspection. Like he was being evaluated.

“Dean. Uh, I found him collapsed in the street last night.” Dean tried to explain without being presumptuous of his and Cas’s relationship, but it was hard.

“And do you usually cuddle with complete strangers in hospitals?” And that was why it was so difficult. Dean blushed and tried to hide it because he never blushed.

“Ah, well, no. We go to school together, too. And, um, I think we’ve dated.”

“You think? Not sure about it then? Interesting.” Gabriel was totally laughing at him from behind the lollipop in his mouth. But, he backed off and sat in a chair. Dean awkwardly shifted out of the bed. Cas made a very unhappy whine, and Dean totally did _not_ blush again. Dean put his shoes back on and sat in the other chair. For a minute there was an awkward silence. Then the door opened and a tall, slim redhead came in, shutting the door softly behind her. She tilted her head curiously at Dean, so much reminding him of Cas that he knew they had to be related. She sat next to him and offered her hand.

“I’m Anna, Castiel’s sister. You are?” She whispered to avoid waking Cas, and was much more likeable than Gabriel.

“He’s Dean, and he thinks he might be dating Cas, but he’s not sure, and he slept in his bed last night, and they were snuggling, and they go to school together, and he brought Cas here after he collapsed.”

Dean leveled a look at Gabe.

“Thank you Gabriel. I think he can introduce himself though.” Anna gave Gabriel a look that would peel paint.

“Anyway, sorry about Gabriel. So… are you dating Cas?” Anna looked so hopeful it broke his heart. If he said no, he’d be lying, because they had technically been on a date, and that weird bookshop thing, and it was his orders to date Cas, but if he said yes, he’d be lying, because _it was his orders to date him_. And therefore, it was illegitimate. Although, if Dean was completely honest with himself, and in an alternate universe where they had met and he really had been just a grad student at a club and really Missouri’s TA, he would have totally dated Cas.

Cas… was perfect. He was smart, adorable, hot, and he liked Dean back. Dean was reaching a new level of self hatred for pulling this lying game to Cas. He could see it so clearly, going to the movies with Cas, explaining the references he didn't understand, getting spaghetti and pie and then walking home together holding hands and just being in his presence was like a drug that made Dean feel light hearted and happy, and it didn't matter what they did, they could sit around in pajamas and read books or just sleep or anything. He would listen while Cas explained medieval religious practices or ranted about the terrible music he had to play, he would put on some slow jazz and just relax listening to his enthusiasm, soak up all his energy and passion. He would do anything. He just wanted to date Cas. He wanted it more than anything.

But he couldn't have it. He couldn't tell him about Sammy in too much detail, he couldn't tell him what it was like growing up in Kansas, or losing his mom, or struggling with his dad, or being taught to doctor cars by Bobby, or challenging Jo to drinking contests that ended with Ellen cutting them off and dancing on the tabled clumsily. He couldn't tell him about his past, his family. But he wanted to. So badly. And now that he’d lied, about his name, his occupation, everything, he would never get to.

It was ridiculous, to mourn something that never was, to grieve the loss of a possibility. But here he was. In a hospital, meeting Cas’s family, cuddling with him, telling them he’d dating Cas, lying some more. It makes him feel sick. But on the other hand, he reasoned, it’s not like Cas was completely innocent either. In all his fantasies, somehow neither he nor Cas are who they really are. In his mind, Cas is an innocent, normal teenager, and so is Dean. But it isn’t reality, and not the truth. Dean decided it was too painful to think about anymore, and he shelved his fantasies far back in the recesses of his mind.

“Yeah… I guess we are.” Is what comes out, in answer to Anna’s question. He zones out for a minute, locked onto Cas’s foot sticking out from under the blanket. Goddamnit he even has cute feet. Gabriel clears his throat, and Dean snaps out of it.

“So… uh, does he know what you are?” That gets Dean’s attention real quick.

“Excuse me?” The panic starts to build. How could Gabriel know? No, no, he has to keep his cool. His cover isn't completely blown, no matter how Gabe knows. But if he does… Deans mind whirls, a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry but you’re an Aquarius and he’s a Leo, and that is just not gonna fly.” Dean exhales shakily. He needs to calm the fuck down, and get out of here. _Time to blow this popsicle joint_ , he thinks.

“Look, I don't believe in that crap, okay? Doesn’t really matter. Um, well, I’ve gotta get to class, so, lemme know when he wakes up. Have him text me or something, and I’ll come visit. Thanks.” He stands and extends a hand to Anna, “It was nice meeting you.” And so he leaves, shooting one last look over to the tuft of ruffled black hair in the bed, and making his way to the Impala, and then back onto campus. He figures they can discuss the packet of pills he found in Cas’s pocket later, when he’s awake and alone.

He may have lied about the class. It’s Saturday, so he has no classes, but he does have to meet with a certain Ruby Cortese.

 

* * *

 

 

As cliche as it is, it seems to fit her shifty personality to meet under a bridge out on the outskirts of the city. The area is dead deserted, the only sound from the cars rushing over the highway above them. Ruby has two goons with her. Double checking his two guns and hidden knife, he puts on his sunglasses and grabs the envelope of money.

Jo was supposed to be making this meeting, but apparently had something more important to deal with, so here he was, showing his hand a bit earlier than he would have liked. He parked the Impala about twenty feet away, so his approach was very obvious. He felt so exposed being alone. He really should not be doing this alone, but there they were.

“Ruby. Meatheads.” He nodded at each in greeting, seeing them bristle under the insult. He smirked.

“Money?” Ruby asked. Straight to business then. He held it up, and held out a hand.

“Even trade.” He says, waggling his fingers at her. She reaches into her jacket and produces a green bag, not see-through at all, and big enough to be considered a small purse. She zips it open, and tilts it so he can see the inside as she offers it to him. Simultaneously, they trade. She inspects the money, he inspects the goods, and then both satisfied, he attempts small talk.

“So, I’m lookin’ to make a larger purchase, sometime in the next few months. I’m havin’ a pretty big party, need to keep my friends supplied for it, ya see? I was hopin’ to get it right from the source. Think you could arrange it for me? I’d be very grateful.” He finishes with a wink, hoping to lay on the southern charm as thick as he can. Better to be thought of as a harmless hick than anything else. Ruby doesn't say anything, just watches him suspiciously. He begins to shift uncomfortably, because that’s what any dealer/junkie would do under the scrutiny. Finally, he just says,

“Look, I’ll just give you my card, and you can pass it on, or give me a call, kay?” He fishes out a crumpled, not quite white business card and passes it to the closest goon. Ruby just leans against her bar, watching. It’s fucking creepy, but he knows this game. It’s a scare tactic. To show it hasn't worked, he smiles, thanks them, wishes them a nice, productive day, and heads back to his car. He realizes he might just come off as incredibly stupid, turning his back on them, acting trusting and friendly, but he really has no better play right now.

After turning in the drugs at the church, and having the tape recording device removed, he files a shit ton of paperwork and calls it a day. By now its two p.m. He checks his phone, but there’s no word from Cas. Dean collects his backpack with a sigh. He has a few hours before he has to go see Sammy, so homework it is. He figures he might as well head to the library.

At the library, Dean decides he needs peace and quiet. He heads up to the top floor, where there are three quiet study rooms. He heads immediately to his favorite, a bookshelf lined room at the end of the hall, one nearly no one else uses. Granted, he never comes during the day. It’s always been at night. Of course, as he rounds the corner and heads to ‘his spot’ in the back corner, he finds it occupied. By none other than Castiel Novak himself. Snuggler extraordinaire, and occasional octopus. Dean gapes for a moment, because wasn't he supposed to be in the hospital? But here he is, unbrushed hair and all. Dean just sits down across from him and pops out one of his earbuds.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” Cas looks so adorable when he’s confused.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You were in the hospital all morning. When’d they release ya? I told Gabe and Anna to have you call me when you woke up. I thought you were still asleep.” Thinking about sleeping reminded Dean of his four hours in a tiny hospital bed. He must look like hell, and he decides he feels even worse.

“Oh, ah, I was released just before lunch. I woke up around ten, I think. Gabe did not mention you were there…” He squints suspiciously, trying to remember. Dean just blushed and looks down, wondering how on earth to explain last night. Suddenly, Castiel’s arm shoots out and latches onto his wrist. Dean looks up, and Cas’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“I… remember.” Cas croaks, blushing like a tomato. He releases Dean’s wrist and tucks his arms under the table again.

“That- this. I am embarrassed. I apologize for my behavior. I thought I was dreaming, and…” He trails off unable to explain. The table and textbook suddenly are a lot more interesting than before. Dean finds it quite adorable.

“Hey it’s alright. I'm just happy you're okay. You're brother’s a dick though. Sorry.” Dean shrugged off the awkwardness.

“Anna was nice though. What about the rest of your family? Any other siblings?” To Dean, the curiosity in his voice is so obviously fake. Cas just looked down at the table again, though.

“Not really.” He said in a voice that made it clear this topic was not up for discussion. Dean pulled out his textbook, and knew he should really be probing Cas for information, like whose blood he was covered in yesterday, or how his brother Satan was doing, but he just coudn’t bring himself to do it. Cas just looked too out of it. besides, if Dean was honest with himself, which he never was, he would realize he didn't want to ask about Lucifer, or Michael, or Raphael, or Uriel, or Hester, or any of his other siblings because he didn't want to shatter the illusion of normalcy. He was afraid of Cas finding out the truth. So, back to analyzing modern religion-themed literature he went. Late into the night he wondered what had happened to Cas, and whose blood was on his hands, but eventually he had to forget about it and fall asleep. Besides, everyone has a few secrets. Especially Dean. The guy deserves a few of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian-Vortex (aka Lizzie<3), who gives wonderful plot advice and is overall adorable and awesome. Go check out her fics!! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockian_Vortex/pseuds/Sherlockian_Vortex
> 
> I beta'd her "Merging of Realities", and her EXTREMELY PERFECT AND WONDERFUL AND ADORABLE DEAN/CAS FIC "TIS THE SEASON FOR SWEATERS" seriously its so perfect go read now okay <3


	8. Love Is Rare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas loves Dean a lot :)

Three weeks after his unfortunate encounter with Crowley, Cas and Dean were steadily dating. Or at least, that’s what he hoped. They had gone on a number of small dates, working up from coffee breaks, to lunches, to dinner. It was… comfortable. Castiel fell into a routine. School all week, interspersed with Dean sitting with him and occasionally poking him or graffiti-ing his notebooks, then working at the club on Fridays and Saturdays. Sometimes, he and Dean would go to dinner before he had to go to the club. He never saw Dean at the club again though. When asked, he carefully deflected, which Cas figured meant he disliked clubs. He would spend most of the weekend at the library, studying or helping Dean with his class, grading papers and such things for Missouri. It was nice, peaceful. Gabe only popped in once, briefly, flicking Dean on the forehead and ruffling Cas’s hair to both of their intense dislike, and Anna hadn't been heard from since their fight. Cas wasn't exactly worried. She could handle herself, and it wasn't like this was the first time she had disappeared.

            This particular Saturday Cas didn't have to go to the club. He had the whole night off, and he intended to use it. He texted Dean early, around 5, and had him bring a pizza. Cas popped in a movie and they settled in to watch it together. Dean was a bit awkward as far as displays of affection went, but Cas knew he was secretly a softie and burrowed into his side. Dean grumbled but wrapped an arm around Cas, belaying his put upon act. Tonight, Cas had a surprise for Dean. But it would have to wait for the second Star Wars movie, and all the pizza needed to be gone first. Cas could barely contain his excitement. The look on Dean’s face… would be priceless. The time seemed to slip by so slowly, Cas was sure the clock was broken. Despite his twitchiness, Dean didn't seem to notice.

            Finally, he hears the timer go off. He shoved Dean off of him abruptly, startling the poor man.

            “Cas?” Dean was confused, brows meeting in the middle.

            “Wait there.” Cas commanded as he ran off. He didn't even bother pausing the movie. He had already seen it at least six times anyway.

            “I have a surprise, Dean! Close you're eyes!” He peeked around the doorframe to be sure Dean had closed his eyes, but Dean was looking over the top of the couch, twisting to see what it was.

            “Dean!” He glared. “Close. Them.” Cas growled, and Dean grumbled, but gave in, sitting back and facing forward. He shut his eyes. Cas began to walk out, and then Dean’s nose twitched. He inhaled deeply, and began to chuckle. Cas set the pie in front of him, and doled out the slices onto the plates. Dean was laughing outright now, eyes still glued shut.

            “Man, you can't surprise me with pie! I can smell it a mile away!” Cas just grinned and bent over, kissing Dean’s eyelids, which fluttered open, and his eyes promptly zoned in on the pie in front of him.

            “Apple? Oh, man, this is the best! You are the best! Cas!” Dean was like a small puppy given a treat. He sat up straight, and remembered to give Cas a thank you kiss before diving in. The pie was warm. And sweet, with a little spark of cinnamon spice. _Like Dean_ , Cas thought. He watched Dean eat enthusiastically. Star Wars played on in the background, but it was mostly forgotten. Dean’s knees bumped against Cas’s as he ate, and halfway into his second slice, Dean leaned over, swallowing his bite and threading his hand behind Cas’s head in his hair to pull him in for a slow, apple flavored kiss to show him just how grateful he was for the surprise.

            Things for Dean and Cas were far from perfect. But at the same time, they were completely perfect. Cas found himself more and more happy, and although he was still not sleeping much, seeing Dean everyday gave him a reason to get up in the morning. They would go to the movies, drive around in Dean’s car, study, eat, and even nap sometimes. It didn't matter what they did, they were just happy to be doing it together. Cas could watch Dean sit on the porch of his apartment and do absolutely nothing, and he would be more than content to count his freckles, or revel in the way Dean’s eyes sparkled. He found it curious, but he _wanted_ to tell him things. He wanted Dean to know him. He told him things about himself he never told anyone. How he got mono in 7th grade. How his sister was obsessed with the Power Rangers for long past an acceptable age. Little things, details. Trivialities of his long and complicated life.

            Though he yearned to open up, he knew he couldn't. And Dean wouldn't either. He seemed to be holding back. Where he grew up. His brother’s pen name. His parents, or really anything to do with his past. But, since Cas was really no better about opening up about his past, he couldn't confront Dean about it. He had no right to ask, if he could not reciprocate. It would be hypocritical of him. And while Dean would occasionally push about his family, he would always stop when Cas asked him to. Or whenever Cas shut down, as he was now prone to doing when thinking about those few certain people. So that’s how they worked. It may be broken, it may be imperfect, but they were happy, wrapped up in each other and oblivious to the world and their problematic pasts. At least, that’s how Cas thought it was.

            Unfortunately, nothing can ever be ignored forever. It’s like a law. A law of life.

Cas was having a pretty bad day. It had been six weeks since his stint in the hospital, two months of dating Dean, and despite the doctor’s orders to eat regularly and get as much sleep as he could, he just wasn't able to. He was rarely hungry, but that was normal. The sleep, though… He needed at least eight hours, and the most he could manage was intervals of an hour asleep broken up by an hour calming back down from the nightmares. They were inescapable. Not the meds, not the tea, and not even the lack of sleep were able to keep him under for any substantial length of time. Classes had been hard. They were nearing the end of November now, and over halfway through the semester. The lack of sleep was affecting his abilities in the classroom, and it was increasingly obvious. This particular Monday, Missouri apparently decided she needed to do something drastic. Nothing short of kidnapping.

            “Missouri, look, I know you think I need this, but I am perfectly fine.” Missouri gave him the most incredulous look.

            “Don't you dare lie to me. You need this, even if you don't want it. Dean, tell him.” Why Dean was there puzzled Cas, but he supposed if you were going to pull an “intervention” on someone and force them into seeing a shrink you ought to have present their only friend/boyfriend… or lover? Whatever the hell he was. They hadn't exactly defined it out loud yet. Regardless of Dean’s status within Castiel's life, he was there, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, oddly serious for someone so averse to serious conversations.

            “Yeah, think I’m with Missouri on this one, man. Remember that time you went comatose in my car? And didn't sleep after that? And then the hospital? You just passed out from the stress or something. You need to have these issues looked at. Professionally.”

            “Dean.” Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and bowling his head. he shifted so he was facing Dean.

            “Dean, look. You do not know me that well. I appreciate the concern. But neither of you know my life.” Well, that was kind of harsh. Cas winced.

            “Why is that Cas? Huh? We’re both your friends. We both care about you a ton, and we both think you need to tell someone, if not us. You can trust us, but if you just can't, then you at least have this lady who’s legally bound not to speak to others about it.”

            “Dean it is not a trust issue. I trust you both with my life.” He sounded epically weary, even to his own ears.

            “Then what is it? Cas, talk to me.” Dean came and sat next to him. He looked so open, earnest, and hopeful. Cas _almost_ let it out. it was on the tip of his tongue, the air was in his lungs, the words composed in his mind, but all that came out was air as he worked his mouth. He couldn't do it. What would they think of him, if they knew? Dean… Dean was so good, and brave and strong and… he was righteous. Castiel had done some truly terrible things, and he couldn't afford Dean’s good opinion. If that was the price, then Castiel was most emphatically not willing to pay it. Dean watched him struggle. They made eye contact, and held it. Dean searched for answers, and Cas searched for hope. Castiel’s eyes traveled to the door, which was just closing after Missouri had left.

            “Cas… trust me. Nothing you can say will change what I know you to be. Your past… is your past. And it’s not who you are now, but it’s important to what makes you _you_. And it’s affecting your health. So, please.” Dean was reaching out towards him, but Castiel was pulled up in a ball of tension, withdrawn and distant. Cas looked back at Dean, and his fear was choking him. Moments of silence passed. Dean blurred and Cas realized he had tears streaming down his face. Dean sighed.

            “It’s alright. C’mere.” He pulled him into a loose hug. Silently, he began to shake. He couldn't do it. He was a coward. He was so ashamed of himself. And Dean… Dean just let him. Why? How was Dean so understanding? He couldn't lose Dean. He was perfect. Eventually, when he could speak again, he pulled away and refused to let Dean touch him.

            “I’m- I am not what you think I am. I am not _who_ you think I am. Dean-” _Beautiful, wonderful, Dean,_ he thought, “You tend to see the best in people and ignore their flaws in favor of their virtues. But I have none, and I fear even you will not be able to look past my flaws. I… would not want you to, in fact. I do not deserve for them to be forgiven, even by you. I have… come to… find that my feeling for you extend far, as far as, I think, that I-”

            “Don't you dare.” Cas looked up in shock. Dean was _livid._ His green eyes positively burned with ire.

            “If you say it, and follow up with ‘but I’m not worthy’ or some other bullshit, I don't wanna hear it. If you do, in fact…” Dean flapped his hand between them vaguely, “...me, like I…” Again, the flapping, “...you, _despite not knowing anything,_ then you can realize I make my own decisions on the worthiness of my partners, and you can't just decide for me. You,” Hand flap, “... me, and let me choose you or reject you, or you don't,” Hand flap _and_ a bright blush this time, “... me. Its as simple as that.” Dean sat back, giving Cas space. The tears were still wet, but they were drying uncomfortably. Cas’s vision went a little funny as he tried to process this. He stared without blinking, unable to comprehend, before simply breaking down and crying all over again. It didn't make any sense.

Dean just gathered him up in his arms. Sometimes, when you love someone, that’s all you can do. Because even if two people love each other, their problems will exist, and if their problems exist and they don't face them, they end up hurting themselves. But, simultaneously, when people love each other and they’re hurt, they comfort each other, no matter the problem between them, and without asking questions. Basically, Dean knows when to shut up and when to be a shoulder to cry on.

After that bucket of drama and the subsequent river of tears, Cas meekly followed Dean to his car, and then sat through his appointment with one Dr. Pamela Barnes. While Dean was present for the first one, which was a basic getting to know each other day, after that he would not be attending. This was Cas’s choice. The reason he was here was his inability to tell Dean his past, so that would be what they needed to work on. And so Cas began therapy for his rather traumatic life, with the ever-supportive Dean by his side.

Unfortunately (as always), they don't get the time to fix things exactly.

 


	9. Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People get kidnapped, Dean remembers some of his younger days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian_Vortex. Follow me on Tumblr!   
> Comments and Kudos seriously help, so please let me know your thoughts!

Dean had seen quite a few broken individuals in his time. He had seen people so downtrodden, so run over, so battered by life itself that they were ghosts with heartbeats, and nothing more. Cas wasn't nearly that bad, but he was well and truly broken inside. Dean could only imagine what his life must have been like for him to have become so damaged. Sure, he had always known Cas had a fucked up past. But back then he had been “Castiel Novak: Sociopathic Member of The Novak-Milton Crime Family” and now he was “Castiel Novak: Nerdy Bookworm Who Cries His Way Through the Notebook and Doesn't Understand Any Doctor Who References and Studies Twice as Much as Sam, The Nerd, and Refuses to Wear Socks at Any Time When Shoes Are Not On His Feet, and Who Dean Calls _Cas_ , Who Tilts His Head Like A Bird In Confusion and _Cas, his Cas,_ Who Cuddles, Who Bosses Him Around, Who Oggles Dean Like He’s the Next Coming of Christ, Who Stares, and Who Has No Social Manners, And….” Dean could literally write books about Cas. Multiple books.

But… Dean also remembers just starting his career in law enforcement. The news headlines read, “12 Dead In 2 Day War”, and “Milton-Novak’s At It Again” or other similar titles with body counts in the mid-twenties for whole weeks out of the year. He could remember looking at Cas’s mug shot when he was 21 and Cas was just 13, and Cas had been brought in on his first suspected murder. He could remember his father working this case before him, remembered it running him into the ground. He remembers watching from far away in the rookie jobs they placed him on as his father tore his hair out every time the body count rose. Every week, someone died, either an innocent civilian from the drugs, or from a soldier in the war for disobedience. He could remember his father spending whole weeks working for a break, never coming home, and when he did come home, it was because someone important to the investigation died, or something went wrong, he was always drunk.

He remembers when Cas was 17; he was brought in and questioned for a solid 10 hours about the suspicious death of one of the family’s young lawyers. He never cracked. His nickname, The Silence, came not only from his absolute stealth and lethal ability, able to approach without a sound and able to kill without even the rustle of cloth or the faint squelch of blood and flesh, but also from his stoicism in the cage. His brother Gabe, when interrogated, made dirty jokes and bantered with the police. Anna simply smiled and was polite, but never gave anything away. Castiel? Dead Silence. Not a word had been recorded in 5 years of filming him. He went comatose staring at the wall. Not even eye contact could be made.

Not even a week after that attempted arrest, Castiel’s cousin was dead, and Castiel himself had left the family. How he left alive, Dean had always wondered, but he wasn't getting anything out of Cas. He had hated Castiel, with a passion, before he knew him. He hated the family. He still hates the family. That family took Dean’s from him.

But he can see Cas, broken, fragile, serial killer Cas, and he knows the line between hatred and love has been demolished like the Berlin Wall. Cas has been so thoroughly destroyed by his life, that Dean can't imagine him going to prison for it now. It used to be that Dean couldn't wait to catch Cas and put him behind bars. Used to joke about it with Dad. How Dad would cuff Naomi and Metatron, and Dean would cuff The Silence, together. But Dad is gone, and Dean is in love with his end of the deal. Life works out in funny ways sometimes.

Dean’s able to see that Cas has become far from a killer. Cas couldn't throw a punch, Dean supposes. The violence he was raised with had an effect on him, sure, but he is, deep down in his soul, Dean decides, a good man, with his heart in the right place. He’s on the right track now, for redemption, perhaps. The fucked up lifestyle he was born to has shredded the good soul inside, but Cas is healing. He just can't reconcile the Cas sobbing his heart out into Dean’s shirt with someone capable of murdering more people. Cas has been broken. It takes a broken man to recognize another broken soul. Maybe that’s why they click so well, neither asking too many questions about the other, both recognizing the fragility in the other’s eyes.

But Cas, who’s also so strong, and funny, and caring and hopeful, who looks at Dean, and Dean can see Cas’s longing for normalcy, for a new future. Only a person with a resilience as strong as Cas's could come out of a life like that, alive and kicking and _trying_. God, he tries so hard to live. To be happy. To ignore his past, and hope for a future. God, Dean loves him for that. He loves the good man inside that has been strong enough to survive the monster he was molded into. He loves Cas so fucking much.

He loves him so much, and life was so unfair. And Dean is angry. Dean is very angry. Rage fills his bones. His tendons stand out with his fury. He hates everything. He hates Bobby, for making him do this. He hates Jo for not noticing he isn’t just playing anymore. He hates Sam for asking if he has a boyfriend yet every time he called from the book tour. He hates lying to Sam. He hates telling him that there’s no one, when there is someone, but not just anyone, Cas. Cas who goes octopus on him sometimes, clinging like Dean could die that second and he needs to shield him with his body, and Cas who doesn't make him feel stupid when he doesn't understand the stupid Latin they have to read for class, and Cas who bakes him pies, and Cas who is perfect and loves him. Dean hates no one more than himself, though. He’s made Cas fall in love with a lie. He is despicable, and he knows it. He is not the good soul Cas is inside.

Though, they haven't said it yet. The big L-word. Well, Dean did. Sort of. But he wasn't letting Cas do that if he wasn't ready yet. And he was mid-way through an emotional breakdown. Of course he hadn't been ready. But Dean could feel it. He felt how much Cas cared when he tucked him into bed after a particularly long day, he could feel it in the soft elbow touches Cas did when he needed Deans attention, and he could see it in the way Cas looked at him, head to toe and deeper than his soul. He saw it in the subtle possessiveness Cas showed when anyone talked to Dean in a flirtatious way, and he saw it in the way Cas’s eyes would light up when he saw Dean. Dean may be emotionally constipated verbally, but he was in no way stupid, or unobservant. He felt it in the moments between kisses when Cas would be so close his eyelashes brushed Dean’s cheeks as he blinked. He felt it. He saw it. He didn't need it to be said.

Dean sat fuming at his desk. Bobby, Ash, Jo, Victor, really everybody had taken one look at the pure murder on Dean’s face when he walked in and had run away. In the last few weeks they had made decent progress. Dean was bringing in more drugs than they could process. Ash had been breaking down their composition, finding out exactly what they were composed of so that the team knew what they were dealing with if anyone overdosed. The random names didn't help, since apparently “Christ” was made of a strange combination of tranquilizers, and “Easter” was made out of a bunch of highly addictive painkillers.

In any case, his co-workers were willing to forgive him his moodiness. He had made three arrests this week alone. Besides, he would never tell them why he was so pissy. Not when he wasn't supposed to have legitimate feelings for his bird. The bird being Cas, and called a bird because he was an informant, technically. On the books that is. Although, Dean had gotten surprisingly little to credit to his ‘informant’. What was he supposed to write? How Anna had choked on skittles and landed herself in the emergency room when she was eight? Or how Gabe had pranked Uriel so hard one day he pissed himself laughing while Uriel tackled him? Or how Michael and Lucifer had gotten into nearly daily fights over who was the better, older twin and deserved the authority over their siblings more? No, he couldn't write any of that. As far as the investigation went, it was useless information.

Dean wasn't pissy because of this. He was wrathful because of obvious reasons, though most of it was self-inflicted, but also because he hadn't seen Cas in over a week. Cas had been apparently doing great, though, loving his therapist, despite how reluctant he was to see her in the first place, and had been seeing her for three weeks. He hadn't seen Cas because the semester had ended, and Dean was supposedly ‘visiting family’ while Cas did… nothing. Or hung out with Gabe. All Dean got was some texts through the day. All Dean could think was _thank god he was ‘coming back’ tomorrow._ He hadn't been able to go onto campus or really into any of his usual haunts in case he got caught, and it had sucked. Not as much as not seeing Cas, but it had definitely sucked.

Dean wonders exactly how unethical it would be to use the computers or equipment to see where Cas was hanging out without Dean. What’s he doing? Who’s he spending his time with? The computer screen glares at him. Dean feels shame leak in. He shouldn't have even considered it. But… well… Cas is a valuable ‘informant’, and a major player in the investigation… No. He should trust Cas. He does trust Cas. Right? Now he’s questioning things. The line between real relationship and investigation had blurred so far… He shouldn't trust Cas. Not at all. But he _knew_ Cas. And really, he does trust him. And this is a problem. The cycle of self-hatred delves ever deeper.

As he’s filling out his daily report, the most mundane and menial task in the entire world, he gets mail. It’s an innocent envelope, nothing that should cause alarm. It’s addressed to his father, however. His dead father. Dean reluctantly opens it. As he slides the letter opener onto the slot, Meg waltzes up to his desk, perching her tiny frame on the edge. He froze, looking up with his eyes only.

“What?” He asks, voice flat.

“Aw, don't be a grump. Whatcha got there, squirrel?” Meg smiled, but it never reached her eyes. She was as dangerous as they came, and twice as stone hearted. Her cheer never failed to ring false. She flirts like a boa constrictor. Charming, but deadly. Slowly circling before suffocating you without a care.

“Work. What are you doing?” He used the back of his hand to unceremoniously shove her off his desk. His dark mood was not helping his workplace manners, and out of anyone who could have approached him, she was the most likely to set him off.

“Snooping. What’s in the fancy envelope? Love letter from your boyfriend?” Meg leered at him and sat on the desk again. Dean felt his blood pressure rising.

“Fuck. Off.” Dean unfolded the letter. And promptly dropped it on his desk, and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and an evidence bag. He read the letter three times, the disjointed words as perplexing as ever.

“Ash!!” He yelled, “Get over here! Now!” There may have been a slight tinge of panic to his voice. Meg crowded his space reaching for the letter. He shoved her away, and she huffed. Ash sprinted over.

“‘Sup?” He looked at the letter, now safely enclosed in the evidence bag. Dean stripped off the gloves, tossing them.

“Please confirm this, and compare it to the others. If it’s legit we have a big problem, but if it’s just a copycat, well, I need to know. Now. ASAP.” Dean’s tone brooked no argument. Ash scurried off to analyze the paper and stuff. Whatever he did to verify the other ransom notes the Family sent out. Bobby must have gotten word, because he meandered out, and sat with Dean.

Dean was vibrating. This couldn't be happening. His mind whirled through the possibilities. Cas had texted him just that morning about his breakfast and plans to walk with Anna later that day.

“Do you think-”

“No. No, Bobby. There is no way. Don't even suggest it.” Dean pulled out his phone, and texted Cas. He waited, but got no reply. That was a very bad sign. Under his breath Dean began chanting a stream of curses.

“Shut up.” Bobby cuffed his head. At his incredulous look, Bobby rolled his eyes.

“We’re in a church. Just cause you ain’t religious don't mean you can disrespect that.” Bobby was right, as usual. Dean shut up and began pacing. Fifteen heart pounding minutes later, Ash raced back. He looked serious, so Dean immediately began ordering the team into action.

“One car to check Cas’s apartment, the library and my place, and the rest of them on high alert for the call and location. Meg, get out the big guns, get them distributed and ready. Bobby, I need-”

“You need to shut up and sit down. This has become a hostage situation and you can't go actin’ all crazy on me now. Dean. Calm down. You are a goddamn professional, now act like it.”

“But-”

“No, Dean, you are clearly very emotionally invested, I have no idea how you let this happen, and I think we need to talk about this in my office. Everyone, proceed as you would for a hostage situation. Dean?” Bobby pointed at his office. Dean flew into it. Bobby meandered, driving Dean up the wall in frustration.

“Dean-”

“Bobby-”

“Boy! You listen now. Sit your ass down!” Dean sat.

“Now, please tell me you have not slept with the most notorious member of the Novak Family.” Bobby sat and Dean blushed.

“Uhm. Define ‘slept with’.”

“Dean! I asked you to date and befriend him! Not fall in love! You know what he’s done!”

“Yeah, but I also know who he is!” Dean is yelling now, angry with Bobby for assuming Cas is as bad as everyone thinks he is. As he used to be. Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Bobby, we gotta do something. If he wasn't who he was you’d be out there, searching.” Dean pleads, placing his hands on his knees to hide their tremors.

“Dean. Until we know he is actually missing, and this is not a hoax we are doing nothing. Do you hear me?” Bobby leans back in his rolly chair. Dean fidgets. _Cas_ is _kidnapped._ And Bobby expects him to just sit there?! No frickin way. Dean Winchester physically cannot just sit while someone he lo-

Someone he loves. Love, with a capital L. Which means someone he considers to be family. While someone he loves is taken, and possibly in danger of being killed, if not dead already. He can't do it. And Bobby knows this.

“Bobby-” Dean’s voice breaks, and barely makes it over a whisper. “Bobby, I love him.” Ashamed, Dean looks at his lap.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Bobby and Dean sit for another minute, neither sure what to do now. Dean stands. Dean makes his decision. It’s surprisingly easy.

“I have to go.” Dean slaps his badge on the table, and his gun. And his knife. And his backup gun.

“Are you sure Dean?” Bobby asks, and Dean nods. He has never been surer of anything in his life. Dean walks out of the station, a true civilian for the first time in his life. Of course, this is the first time in his life someone gets the drop on him, too. Dean senses a body behind him as he unlocks his baby, and then the butt of a gun hits his temple and he goes out cold.

 


	10. Castiel's Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks to Castiel's troubled past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian_Vortex! <3  
> 

** Approximately 12 Years Ago: **

 

 A hand lies on his back, urging him to move forward. Fake nails scrape his skin through the thin cotton tunic. He smells chemicals that burn his nose, and there's a faint whiff of smoke in the air. He looks up, into his mother’s eyes. So blue, like his own. Her hair is pulled into a power bun, to match her steel grey power suit. She is impeccable, sterile, devoid of even a hair out of place. She has small lines near her eyes, which crinkle when she smiles at him. She leans down and pushes him forward again, gently.

“Castiel. Dear, I need you to do this for me. Don’t disappoint me, please.” She places her ebony handled, engraved family heirloom knife in his chubby seven-year-old hand, and he feels so honored, trusted, and loved. No one is allowed to touch this knife besides Mother. He loves her, he feels affection for her and smiles genuinely up at her, because that’s what small children do. They trust and they love, especially when they don't know they shouldn't, and even when they do know better. It took him another ten years to realize his memory of her smile being loving was false; her smiles were nothing but lies, plastered on to cover the empty space where her emotions ought to be.

But for now he cannot detect past the shiny veneer of love and trust she has displayed, or the sense of familial duty that has been instilled in each of them. He sees a mother he loves, asking him to do his duty. He does not want to, but he must. He can remember when Gabriel came back with his mother, Castiel’s mother’s sister, from his own first Mission. Gabriel had been pale, but smiling. He had been given cookies, and patted on the head. His mother even gave him a _hug._ Gabriel had done well, and so would Castiel. He gripped the bone-handled knife and approached the source of the stench.

By that point, the man they had been interrogating was hardly a man at all. Castiel did not flinch when he saw the burns or what remained. This was not a person to him. It was as his mother had told him; this was a Demon. **This was a Sinner.** This was someone who had betrayed them and betrayed their family. Castiel may have been small, but he was tired of being called weak.

In kindergarten he had shown compassion, helping others and being kind to all, as was his nature. The other kids had all bullied him. He had swiftly been shown the error of his ways by his Mother. She had called him weak; her eyes had shifted from loving and kind to cruel and angry. He never wanted to anger her again.

“Treating them that way, Castiel, is what makes you weak. They are less than you. They are not your family. We cannot have you showing weakness.” She had told him.

From her, he learned never to show compassion. And from All- Father he learned to never fail the family. He remembered Sunday sermons filled with his family, his brothers and sister and cousins all around him, all praying together, listening to All-Father as he honored those who had done well, and doled out punishments for those who had not. He had listened to those who were punished, as they screamed for mercy, and he vowed never to fail.

Where most seven year olds would have flinched, at the very least, Castiel did not. He remembered the teachings of his family, his Mother, and he stood strong. He could not fail them. He brought up the knife. He felt Naomi’s eyes on him. His task was clear: interrogate, but do not kill. The man would die soon anyway.

Castiel reached up with his empty hand, standing on the tips of his toes. He placed the hand on the man’s cheek, and whispered in his ear. The dead man cried. He wailed. Castiel did not remove his hand or stop whispering. The voice of a small child, supposedly an innocent thing, used in such a manner as to be a perversion. But to Castiel this was not the case. His sense of duty to his Mother surged as the man sobbed. Not another incision was made, but this had been the worst torture yet. After spilling his secrets, the wretched received praise from the youth, and a bone handled knife slid home before Castiel pulled away.

Castiel was given cookies that night, and even got a hug. But still, like Gabriel, he was pale. His voice shook. As his stoicism had not failed him before, it was failing him now. He was only a child. A powerful guilt shook him. That night, in his bed, he cried himself to sleep, muffled by a pillow like the shameful act Mother and Father would denounce it to be. The stench of death and the smell of blood followed him for days afterwards. He felt like he was the one who had died, not the man.

* * *

When Castiel was thirteen, he embarked on his first ever solo hunt. To be sure, this was a year later than most of the other children. However, Castiel was what they were calling a ‘late bloomer’ in his family. Always the oddball, despite his initial success, Castiel had become a problem child. His mother, once proud of his accomplishments, had become increasingly disappointed in him. After his initiation he had joined in training. All of the family was home schooled, and they were taught a rather… unorthodox curriculum, in addition to the regular school subjects.

While he excelled at some things, such as weaponry, aim, hand-to-hand combat and blade training, he failed miserably at interrogation skills, the most important of the arts. Where his cousin Alistair was clearly the next Einstein of the Torture world, Castiel was clearly their next assassin. Kill, he could do. Torture, he could not. The reason became clear soon enough, and he was put on a number of prescriptions when he was ten years old to ‘fix’ the problems. First, an antidepressant. Next came a sleeping pill. Then anti-anxiety medications. Naomi was just about throwing the pills at her son to make him stop caring about the people who lay on his training table.

Eventually, they took a different route. Alistair wanted someone he wasn't allowed to kill, who he could play with and mold into a new person. A long-term project, you could say. His final exam before he could graduate. Castiel was deemed the defective soldier who needed reprogramming. It was, to Naomi, a perfect solution. Alistair and Castiel then shared a room. A room filled with Alistair’s tools and toys. It was then that Castiel discovered how thin the wall Naomi had displayed was. How truly fake she was. The veil of childhood was torn aside.

When it had been the pills, he had blamed himself. He wasn't right. He wasn't good enough. Of course Naomi was disappointed. But for her to allow the Father of their family, Metatron, to do this to him? For her to support her son being used as a permanent pincushion for Alistair’s knives? Naomi lost her son’s respect and his love. What had once been childhood reverence turned to hatred.

Castiel belonged to Alistair for three years. From age ten to thirteen. Alistair ‘graduated’ when Castiel was eleven, but got to keep him as a reward for doing good work. Castiel held out just a year before collapsing. Life with Alistair had been… painful, to understate it. Castiel slept on the floor with no pillows or blankets for three years. He nearly lost his hands twice, and had to amputate one of his toes. His back was covered in a scarring pattern shaped to look like wings; part of Alistair’s cruel sense of humor. His once perfect body was destroyed, not a patch of skin left untouched. He did not see nor speak to anyone other than Alistair for most of the first two years. He did not leave the house, except at night to accompany Alistair on his Missions. It went beyond the physical tortures. Alistair finding great delight in crushing any and all personality or shred of mental health and self-esteem Castiel may have had.

Each day he spent a minimum of an hour on the rack. At first, it had been all day there. When he had become Alistair's property, he had been trussed up for a straight week. Alistair took great pleasure in eating and drinking in front of him while he starved. He was given the minimum to stay alive. But after the first year, the daily bit of fun was purely for Alistair's enjoyment, so it usually only lasted about an hour. Castiel lost his vocal chords for a period of time. With a lack of anything productive to do, Castiel’s mind turned… animalistic almost. After he broke, and stopped fighting it, he was allowed to restart his training. He would work out, brutally destroying his equipment, releasing his fury. By the time he was thirteen, Castiel was lethal, and he was dead inside.

Two years in, they began bringing people to him. Victims, murderers, traitors. He obliterated them all. As he was expected to. It was almost a game, how creative he could get with his one and only task. It was a very dark time. Castiel initially had one goal: suicide. But after a year on the rack, he had no thoughts of his self anymore. He lived to serve. He served to live.

Thirteen. The year of hitting on girls because you like them, of joining the first year sports teams, and freaking out over first pimples. Normal teenage concerns. Not for Castiel. At thirteen he made his re-entrance into family life. Gabriel, a year older than him, had been doing his job for two years. He was highly successful, so no matter how much he annoyed people he was kept around. Castiel was glad to see him again, remembering when they were children, sharing their milk and sweets. Even as a monster, Castiel had not been completely dehumanized. He could remember being human once. On his thirteenth birthday, however, he was sent out into the sun again.

His target was a rival dealer, causing trouble in the outskirts of the town. Not a huge problem, but still a threat needing neutralization. He packed up his tools and took the subway downtown, just a small, pale, thin thirteen-year-old boy in a trench coat. His mark was at a cafe near his apartment, so Castiel got himself a latte while he waited. He sat and watched his target. He stalked him with his eyes as his prey left the establishment. After waiting a bit- he was in no rush, he knew where the man lived- he followed.

The cops knew who did it. The cafe had a security camera, picking up the child out on his own. At first no one would believe it. He was a child for crying out loud! But then, they matched him up with their last known info on the youngest Novak child, who hadn't been seen in three years, and they shook their heads in stunned silence. They had no proof besides the camera footage, which meant they had nothing. The crime scene had been immaculate, of course.

Castiel can still remember his first solo hunt. He will never forget it. It’s the one that haunts his nights the most frequently. He was asked to gather information on the dealers network and then eliminate him. It was easy, if messy. In the end, he dismembered and drained the body of its blood, then cremated it in a controlled environment, so as not to burn down the apartment.

But, oh, the screams. The poor man didn't know anything.

* * *

When Cas was a tall, yet thin and gangly sixteen year old, he had black holes instead of eyes. The humanity burned out of him by Alastair long ago, he was a robot. His only goal, besides basic survival, was to kill Naomi. The people he murdered blended together. They no longer stood out, he no longer dreamt of their voices. He no longer dreamt. He stood far taller than Gabe by now, and he counted Gabe and Anna among his only friends. The rest of his family could die for all he cared, and he might as well be their killer. But, he had no means of survival without them. To be excommunicated by the family would prove disastrous at this point, and besides, they far outnumbered him.

He began assisting in the training of the young blood. His nieces and nephews and cousins. One cousin he grew particularly close to, finding the young boy to be much like he had been. Innocent, open eyed, and kind hearted. Something inside him felt… strange when he looked at the boy. Samandriel was his name. He was shy, but good. Castiel felt the irrational need to protect him. When they were training with weapons, he always paid Samandriel special attention. Over time, they became a team, Samandriel backing him up on his Missions.

At the same time, Castiel felt lonely. Sure, he had become a rather soulless and heartless being, but that was mainly just when he needed to be. Underneath the monster, he existed still. And he was lonely. He had Gabe, Anna, and Sam, but he needed something more. This was when he began his playlist. He had always found music to be a calming, cathartic experience, and he delved into it headfirst. He began taking risks for a shade of normalcy. As any teenager, he began branching out, searching. The playlist was one risk, as they would never allow him to have it, but his gamble went much further than that. Anna and Gabe, and even Samandriel were all covering for him.

The fucked up life he had led left something fundamental lacking, and he wanted to find it. If he were quite honest with himself, he had been lacking in love. Sure, Anna, Gabe and Sam all cared for him, but in their lifestyle of intimidation and violence, there was no real love. Naomi certainly hadn't loved him. His deadbeat sperm donor of a father, allegedly named “Chuck”, had hightailed it out before he had been born, disappearing into the night, never to be heard from again. So he searched. And what he found, well, it certainly _felt_ like what love was supposed to feel like.

They had met at a bar. And they talked, drank, flirted. He had been blond, with lovely big brown eyes, and a smile bigger than the state. He didn't care that Castiel refused to talk about his past, but he had told Castiel all about his. Growing up in a small town, moving to the big city, high school, college life, everything. Castiel lapped it up like a starved animal. He was so normal, and Castiel loved that. He was kind, and good, and everything Castiel wasn't. The best part was he had no idea who the Novak-Milton’s were.

Castiel saw him for six months before anyone found out. It was Michael. Of course, it was Michael. Do-gooder, Mr. Perfect, Heir to the Throne Michael. He caught him sneaking back in. Castiel lied, of course, and covered for himself, but the damage was done. He was sent out relentlessly on Missions. He killed three people in a week. There was no time to see the man he had fallen in love with.

He came home one day from a training session with the children, only to find Anna weeping in his room.

“It’s all over Castiel. It’s done. We’re done for.” Anna had been ordered to kill him. Not Cas, but Cas’s lover. And Anna- wonderful, rebellious Anna- had refused. An unheard of feat. He was shocked she was still breathing. But then it became clear. Michael had killed her love. Her own, secret, forbidden love, which she had hidden from everyone, even Castiel. That was her punishment, one almost worse than death. That was the last he saw of Anna for a long time. Gabriel too disappeared that week. Perhaps it had been Anna’s sudden departure, or Lucifer’s mysterious actions, but Gabriel fled as well. Castiel was well and truly alone. He went to his last refuge, his only hope of escape from the void that was his family.

But it was gone. Dead. Clearly Michael and Lucifer’s handiwork. Even some of the gore looked to be the signature flair of Alistair. Everything he had loved was now lost. Castiel saw black. Not red- black. Night had fallen, and he let the monster take him over.

* * *

The police had always been interesting. He never left without valuable information, ironic since he was always brought in for interrogation and they always got nothing. But such was the way. He would space out for a while, and they would get frustrated, and yell, or shout, or give away secrets they shouldn't in order to get a rise out of him. It was amazing the detail gleaned from a few hours being yelled at.

In any case, when Castiel was seventeen, he was brought in for the murder of James, or Jimmy, the man he had fallen in love with when he was sixteen. It was so ludicrous; he nearly broke just to laugh at them. But laughter would inevitably turn hysterical, which would turn to tears, which would end with him sobbing his heart out on the police interrogation room floor. So, he remained stoic. Impeccable control was what he was known for, after all.

Castiel was very sure he was broken inside. If not from Alistair, then from Jimmy. He had thought he would never love again, not after Alistair and Naomi. But then Jimmy had made him feel things, to feel human again. He must be a psychopath by now, he figured. They’d been calling him that for at least three? No, four years now. Ever since his first solo. But regardless of what the police thought, Castiel knew he was broken now. For good this time. He had no one to save him now, after all.

Ten hours. That’s how long it took for the bearded angry man to get tired and walk away. He had been in and out, muttering under his breath a lot. His clothes were alcohol stained, and Castiel wondered how an alcoholic became a cop. He had even taken a swing at Castiel at one point, when Castiel was four hours in and still not speaking. Castiel just let his eyes become black holes, and well, it was their choice if they wanted to get lost in that. The one-way glass mirror mocked him. He watched it as if he had x-ray vision.

Immediately after his release, Castiel was brought to the Father himself, Metatron. A small man, with beady eyes and an ugly scruff, Metatron was the leader of the family. He preached for their church, he ordered their troops, and he contracted every execution. As their best assassin, Castiel had been under his direct control for years. He was debriefed in the usual fashion, and sent to his room for a brief quarantine. Food and Netflix were provided, and Samandriel made library runs for him each day. Not a single blueberry had been eaten, each meal being returned untouched.

Four days later he was summoned. This time by Naomi, Metatron’s right hand. Also known as the egg donor for Castiel's existence. Long having given up the pretense of caring, she handed him a file and said,

"This is for you and you alone. Without this Mission accomplished, you will be excommunicated from the family, and killed. Kill the traitor in our midst, or be killed." And with that, Naomi had left him.

That night was the first time Castiel ever got drunk in his life. After reading the file, he had vomited, and decided nothing else would get him through to tomorrow. Well and truly smashed, he lay on his bed, listening to some Tchaikovsky. Knives lay on the floor, the sheets were tattered, guns in the trash can, whiskey had sloshed across his desk, and the room looked like a hurricane had swept through. In a way, it had; drunken Castiel was more physical than he was sober. In a fit of rage he had destroyed his prison cell of seventeen years.

Castiel muttered under his breath to himself. Broken sentences, fragments of thoughts, slurred and muddled together. This was the one and only decision that was better made drunk. Hidden away, deep inside his mattress was a file. Inside it was filled with evidence of every hit he had been contracted with since he was fifteen. Before then, he had hated, and plotted, but never been decided enough to go through with his plans. Now though… All bets were off.

Jimmy was dead, Samandriel was next. Alistair still haunted his life, day and night. Castiel had little left of a life, and so it wasn't hard to risk it. Gabriel had left the fold some time ago, somehow, and Castiel found himself reaching out to him now for help.

Unfortunately, help wouldn't be in the country for another week or so. Castiel panicked, not knowing what to do. He was backed into a corner, with little to no options. He needed to fake it until he could fix it. So, he slept, ate, ‘planned’, and acted normal for the rest of the week. Eventually, however, Naomi cornered him again, breathing down his neck and threatening him. He had no choice. That night, he went and trained with Samandriel. His young cousin was doing so well, and it broke Castiel’s heart.

Afterwards, when Samandriel lay on his bed, cold and still, Castiel sat on the floor, head in his hands and he wept. What was Samandriel, but just another body in a long line leading back to the beginning, when Castiel had been nothing more than a defective soldier? No, he had been more than that. There had been countless men and women Castiel had eliminated, but he had never loved any of them like a brother. This was so far from okay. None of it, even Alistair had come quite this close to cutting him this deeply. He had done this to himself. He had let himself be used, but this was the last straw. This was the last time he would let himself be manipulated into hurting people. He wanted out.

Gabe found him the next day, in his room, lying in his bed on top of the covers, which were drenched in spilled whiskey. Castiel clutched the bottle, curled in a fetal position. Guns lay around him, under him, poking him in undoubtedly uncomfortable places. He was passed out cold, the only way to sleep at all now, save the pills. This was his rock bottom. This was sinking so far down as to be hell-adjacent. All it would take is one ill-timed roll in his sleep and he would break that ever-thinning veil separating him from there.

Gabe dumped a glass of water over him. It matted his hair across his face, but he sat up abruptly. Too abruptly. He ran to the bathroom. Gabe began looking through his files, looking for usable blackmail. Fortunately, there was enough that with a clever enough plan, Castiel might be able to get out alive. Never okay, but breathing.

****


	11. Castiel's Present and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas do the deed, and the kidnapping plot delves deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian_Vortex. 
> 
> This was originally part of the last chapter, I just split it in half for length. I want to have the absolute darkness of the last chapter contrasted with the lightness of this chapter however. So please note that. 
> 
> Follow on tumblr at either thursdaysmorningstar or deandeanthekillingmachine

** Approximately a Month Ago: **

Cas will always remember the first time he realized he loved Dean Winchester. It started with a dream.

Castiel can feel the sunshine paint his face with its warmth. A sweet, gentle breeze ruffles his hair. He is stretched out on the ground, sunken into the overgrown grass, pillowing his head on his hands, with his legs crossed. He can smell Dean, who is using his stomach as a pillow, and hear his slow exhales. Cas sighs in contentment. He doesn't know where they are, but it's warm and soft and hazy. Dean rolls over onto his side, looking up at Cas. He opens his eyes slowly, and smiles beatifically. Dean is so light, easy here, like a weight has been removed. Cas feels so clean, pure of soul and free of guilt that it makes Castiel realize he must be dreaming. It's not real.

He wakes up in his own bed, alone. Despite the crisp, clean sheets and warm air something is missing, something important from the dream world that set him at ease and was a comfort to his troubled soul. A fundamental fault or difference in this universe as compared to the dream world. Something changed in the atoms, the souls, and the natures of men here. Castiel breathes all at once again. He decides it must be Dean. Cas hasn't slept so well in weeks, yet here he dreams about Dean and suddenly he's out like a light. Not bothering to get out of bed, Cas reaches for his phone. He checks the time, finding it almost 3 in the morning. Which is rather inconvenient.

Despite his better judgment and common sense, he texts Dean, rather than calling him. He doesn't expect an answer, yet a split second later the screen lights up and he slithers out of the cold, dry bed and runs to slip on his boots.

They've only been officially dating for a few weeks, but it's been a few of the best weeks of his life. Dean is genuine and caring and if Cas isn't careful he might just fall hopelessly in love with the green-eyed wonder.

Cas sneaks out of his dorm, sticking to shadows despite how deserted the place is. He's only been to Dean's apartment a few times, but he remembers the way perfectly. Before he knows it, he's shivering outside the front doors in just his sweatpants, pajama top, trench coat, and thick winter hiking boots. He pushes the buzzer and the door unlocks. He rushes up the stairs, two at a time. Dean lives on the second floor so it's four flights and Cas is panting by the time he races to the top.

He pounds impatiently on the door, and it swings open to reveal a sleep ruffled Dean in thin pajama pants and no shirt. The pants ride low on his hips, displaying the indents of his hips. For a moment, Cas is caught off guard. Dean's hair is sticking up in all directions, and Dean looks bleary.  He blinks a few times before shuffling aside to let the crazed looking Cas into his home. Cas has long since stopped caring what Dean thought of him, being more focused on more important issues. Such as this.

"I apologize for waking you." Cas steps inside as he speaks. Dean nods.

"What was so important it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?" He asks, shutting the door and heading into the kitchen area. He pulls a pot of tea off the boiler and pours it into two mugs.

"Mom always said nothing can't be fixed by a good cup of tea." Dean says in response to Cas's blank stare at the hot water in his hands. Cas looks up. Silence falls. He stands in his dripping boots and oversized jacket and after all that fuss, finds he cannot verbalize it. The world became clear to him, the dream prompting a realization of rather great importance, yet here he is, frozen.

Realizing as you lay alone in your bed at three am how madly in love with someone you are is not quite the same as standing in their kitchen at just after three am and saying it to them. Dean is patient though. He sips his tea and hums a Beatles lullaby as he waits. The fluorescent lights blair. The shiny linoleum floor glares. The refrigerator hums along, the rhythm to Dean's melody.

Finally, after what seems like eons, Cas realizes he just can't say it. What if Dean does not feel the same profoundness in their bond? The doubts are too many, and the realization too fresh. Cas sets the mug on the counter and approaches. Maybe he can't quite say it, but he can show it.

"I just needed you. I need you nearby. I need you." He places a hand on Dean's cheek, and watches intently, to catalog the emotions he sees flickering. He doesn't attempt to understand them, but wants to recognize them at the very least. It's not exactly what he feels, but it's close enough, and he hopes Dean understands him. He thinks he does, because Dean's eyes go wide.

Instead of shying away like Cas thought he would, Dean moves even closer, wrapping his arms around Cas. The beauty of Dean is that he never pushes Cas. He takes what Cas will give him, and he is happy with it. Cas thinks his heart may burst, so he swiftly closes his mouth over Dean's.

Dean let's him, before breaking it off to say,

“I’m here. I need you, too. I never thought I would need another person, but I need you. I don't understand why you need me though.” And then Cas has to kiss him or let him see how close he is to tears. He thought he could never love again, but here he is. The only problem is he doesn't deserve Dean’s love. Dean doesn't know him. He doesn't know what he’s done, who he’s been. But… they need each other, apparently. And that’s enough for now. Life is too short to always be analyzing and overthinking things.

“I just do. Come on.” He delves back into  

Back into Dean's mouth, running his tongue against Dean's. Dean, ever the alpha male, fights him for it, but Castiel is determined. Dean must break away or submit.

            Eventually, Dean's jaw loosens, letting Castiel take the lead. He licks and sucks and nips, leaving Dean panting. Castiel pushes forward, trying to meld his body into Dean, and backs him against the kitchen counter. Dean leans heavily, held up only by the counter behind him and Cas. Cas grips Dean's hips tightly.

            After ravishing his mouth for an indeterminate amount of time, Cas breaks away to mouth along Dean's jaw and suck at his pulse point. Dean's head falls back, and he lets out a small noise. Castiel can feel Dean's hands shoving at the wet trench coat still on him, and he lets go of Dean with his hands in order to shed the extra clothing. His mouth stays latched onto Dean. Cas kicks off his shoes and shoves them away.

            Dean starts working on his shirt, pulling it up. Its hot, the air around them and between them heating up with their combined arousal. Cas traces over Dean's shoulders, hands running everywhere he can reach. They settle on Dean's ass, and Cas grips him tightly, slotting their erections together. Through the thin pajama pants he can feel how heated Dean is, and he groans. Dean is making small grunts of pleasure, and Cas begins a slow, controlled grind as he kisses the breath out of Dean. He eats up each and every precious sound Dean makes.

            They've gotten this far before, some impromptu make out sessions getting very overheated, but Cas has always stopped things from progressing any further. But, tonight, he doesn't care. Dean is gasping so desperately into his ear, and Castiel  _wants_  Dean. He wants to be as close as possible both mentally and physically to Dean, he wants everything Dean is. He can feel Dean,  _his_ Dean, who needs him and who he needs touching him and he needs more. He breaks away to breathe, never stopping with his slow rhythm, and gasps,

            "Dean, do you- do you t-trust me?" Dean nips at Castiel's jugular, and Castiel chokes out, " _Dean_." And then Dean is looking up at Castiel and placing his hands on Castiel's chest and nodding while maintaining eye contact.

            Castiel backs off a few inches, stopping the slow burn of pleasure, about which Dean makes his complaints known. Cas swoops in for a quick kiss, rather chaste after all that, and then walks backwards, leading Dean with his hands on his perfect ass towards the bedroom. When they get halfway there, he has to stop and slam Dean up against the hallway wall for a fast and sloppy kiss. He can't help himself. Dean is his now.

            But, Dean trusts him. He must do this right. So he becomes gentler with Dean, easing off him and leading him the rest of the way to the bed. He lays Dean down on his back, legs hanging off the edge. Cas drinks in the sight. Dean's hair is ruffled, from sleep and from his hands gripping it. Dean is flushed, his mouth swollen and slick. His arousal is obvious in his thin pants, a small damp spot appearing. Cas isn't much better off.

            Cas removes Dean's pants slowly, mouthing over Dean's erection through the cloth, making Dean fist his hands in the blanket and let out a breathy sigh. He pulls the pajamas all the way off, throwing them in some dark corner. He stops, mouth inches above Dean, breath ghosting over him. He leans down, and at the last second diverts and kisses Dean's inner thigh lightly. Dean whimpers.

            Cas intends on working Dean into a frenzy before giving him what he wants. He climbs up over Dean, bracing himself above him so he touches no part of him, and looks him in the eye.

            "Dean. I need you to be good. Do not come until I tell you. Can you do that?" Dean looks wide eyed at him, slightly scared, but underneath that there is implicit trust. Dean nods.

            "Say it for me." Castiel demands. He is perfectly in control, and this is how he likes it. Dean is  _his._

“Yes. Cas…” Dean runs his hands up Cas’s sides lovingly. The look on his face is a combination of lust and affection. He looks almost… worshipful. It’s too much and Cas bends down to slowly explore Dean’s mouth again, wiping the look right off his face, leaving him panting and thrusting upwards helplessly. Cas grips Dean’s hips, hard enough to bruise lightly, and he growls possessively. He flips Dean onto his stomach.

Cas removes his shirt and spreads Dean’s legs as far as they go. He heads over to the bedside table, looking to Dean for confirmation before rummaging around for the lube and condom. He sets the supplies down on the bed next to Dean, who squirms in anticipation. Cas lays a hand softly on the small of Dean’s back, just above the gentle swell of his ass. He murmurs in Dean’s ear,

“Be still.” And Dean is. Dean is so good for him, so patient and trusting. One would never think it to see Dean, the alpha-macho male stereotype of toughness, but he needs a firm and gentle hand to make him truly feel loved. Which, of course, Cas needs have someone to take care of, and worship and love. They’re like a puzzle that fits together perfectly.

Cas prepares Dean slowly, drawing it out. He uses one finger to work him open carefully, then adds a second when Dean starts to get really anxious. He lets out the most delicious little noises and Cas relishes in making sure Dean doesn't stop. He loves hearing Dean feel happy.

Dean starts to push back when Cas adds the third finger, and Cas slows to a stop and uses his other hand, previously massaging Dean’s lower back and ass, to hold him down.

“Dean, you’ve been so good for me, but I said to stay still. I’m going to have to change my plan if you can't follow my directions.”

“No! Cas… please… I-I can be good. Let me- I can show you, please!” Dean pants. Cas can see the bed beneath Dean is beginning to soak through. Cas has been ignoring his own arousal in favor of taking care of Dean, but he feels it acutely now. He needs this just as much as Dean.

Dean flattens out completely, fisting the sheets and spreading his legs even wider. Cas’s pupils dilate even further, and he can't help but let out a small groan of desperation. Dean is so perfect, displaying himself for Cas, and all his. Cas has always had a possessive streak, but with Dean it’s becoming downright dominating.

At two fingers he had found Dean’s prostate, Dean jerking up in surprise, throwing his head back slightly and gasping delightfully, but Cas avoided it in order to help Dean not come before he was allowed to. He looked down again at Dean, spread and ready, with three fingers stretching him out and started slowly moving his hands again. He stroked over the prostrate again, relishing in the shudder that wracked Dean’s entire frame in response.

“Alright, Dean. This time I’ll let it slide, but next time you will need to face the repercussions.” Both Dean and Cas shiver and moan at that promise; the promise of skin pinked and tingling from punishment, the promise of the burn of a slow and torturous pace. But now was not the time for that. They are both far too desperate for that.

So, Cas nudges Dean up the bed, following him and kneeling between his legs. He gently guides Dean into a position facing him, and lays him back. On his way up the bed he stops and grabs a pillow, placing it underneath Dean’s hips. He smirks up at Dean as he lifts his hip, and Dean winks at him. He settles between Dean’s legs, stomach to stomach and kisses him within an inch of his life.

Dean reaches down between them, and grasps Cas’s hip desperately. Cas slowly mouths down Dean’s chest, teasing him.

Finally, he slides back up and slides inside slowly. He holds Dean's legs up with one arm, the other hand reaching up to cup Dean's face.

"Look at me Dean. Don't close your eyes." Dean struggles, but keeps his eyes open. Locked in a staring match far too intimate for Dean's taste, they move together.

Afterwards, sweaty and filled with a light feeling which could only be described as happiness, Cas snuggles into Dean's arms, falling asleep while sharing their body heat. Cas tangles their arms and legs together so tightly; he can't tell where he Dean begins and where he ends. Just before drifting off, Dean whispers into Cas's hair,

"I need you. I shouldn't, but I do." He kisses Cas lightly and then they fall asleep together.

 

* * *

 

  
  
** Present Time: **

Castiel has barely heard from Dean for a week. He worries, sure, but Dean isn’t even in the state, so he assumes he’s busy with his brother or something. In any case, whenever he feels too lonely or he sees something that reminds him of his Dean, he sends him a text or picture. It’s not more than once or twice a day, but it keeps them in contact, and Dean’s enthusiastic replies leave Castiel smiling stupidly for hours.

To occupy his free time, Castiel reconnects with Anna and Gabe, and has lunch with Missouri sometimes. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he meets with Pamela, although she insists he call her ‘Pam’. He ignores this direction. He spends his time at the library or working, the break making the club surprisingly busy, even on weeknights. Cas is on a break when an unwelcome face joins him.

“Castiel. It’s been a long time.” Alistair’s lisp and nasal-y voice rattle in his ear. The puff of breath ghosted over his neck, and Castiel spasms. He never thought he would hear that voice again. The proximity throws Castiel. He flashes back to being strapped down and tortured, how gentle Alistair’s voice had been, breath caressing him in the same way as when Alistair bent over him to reach for his second smallest scalpel and forceps when he was eleven. It’s been nine years, but Castiel is far from free of his clutches, apparently. He shakes the memory away.

“I’m so glad they forced you to remain close by. Made it so much easier to find you.” Alistair slid into the seat in front of Cas. He puts up money and is passed a drink. It’s pushing midnight, and the club is packed. The college students trying to cram in as much fun as they possibly can before going back to school. The room is dark, but Alistair is lit up from the small red lights flashing all over the club. Drenched in the red light, Alistair looks positively demonic.  _Very fitting_ , Cas thinks.

“What do you want from me?” He allows a bit more of a growl to slip into his voice, subtly standing straighter and trying to exude an air of power and command. It’s the only thing Alistair responds to, other than depravities. Alistair laughs and sips his drink. The lights flash, the people thrash, and Alistair watches them with all the calm interest of a lazy, yet hungry lion. They are so unaware of the predator within their midst. The college girls and boys are drunk and unaware of how short their lives may actually be at this particular moment.

“I think I should be asking you that question. I have something. Something you put a claim to.” Alistair peeks out of the corner of his eye at Cas, grinning when he notices his confusion. He returns to his study of the lowly humans.

“Think back, it was a while ago. But you're message was quite clear, my dear. The incident with a certain Mr. Fergus Crowley?” Cas’s brow furrows in thought. He had stabbed Crowley when he had threatened Dean… Dean. It was Dean. Alistair was claiming to have-

“Dean!” Cas groaned in despair.

“Yes!” Alistair exclaimed in delight.

“Yes, you're precious Dean-o. We’ve been having such fun, Cassie. Just like when you were mine, but… not quite as pathetic.” Alistair finished his drink. Cas sat in shock, rage paralyzing him. He wanted to behead Alistair, but… he didn't know where Dean was being kept, and Alistair was better at hand to hand combat than him since he hadn't kept in fighting shape at all over the last two years. He couldn't help Dean if he was dead or had no idea where he was being held. He clenched his hands, the tendons on his arms standing out. He gripped the drink so hard, it shattered, water spilling all over the bar and embedding glass shards in his hand.

“So, I’ve got a bit of a conundrum on my hands, here. Your boy here won't give you up. We keep telling him and telling him and showing him fake proof of your alleged and oh, so tragic death, but he just… keeps his faith in you. Wants to ‘save you, please god’. “Alistair pauses to bend over snickering. When he regains his composure he says, “It’s completely pathetic, but, well, I give you good credit for stringing him along so completely, I suppose.”

“Ho- how do you mean?” Cas’s voice breaks but he needs to get as much information as he can so he persists.

“Well, I know you, Cassie. I molded your  _soul._  You aren’t capable of loving. I made sure of that, and so did Naomi. It’s an empirical weakness, as we’ve always told you, and here it is, being used against you. That boy doesn’t know you don't love him, but he sure loves you.” Alistair hisses like a snake, the last of his words curling up like smoke into a singsong voice at the ends.

“Where is he?” Cas knows it's futile to ask, but he has to. He has never felt so powerless. He picks the last of the glass from his hand and wraps it in a cloth napkin.

“Ah, Ah, Ah, not gonna happen, Cassie, dear. Come on, you know me better than that. I just needed a bit of your blood…” He picks up the glass shards Castiel pulled out of his hand, and places them into a bag.

“It’s not like he’ll recognize me from my blood.” Castiel points out helpfully and desperate.

“True, but he will be able to run this against your DNA at his apartment, using the FBI records from your oh, so convenient immunity deal when you flipped on us like a slutty dog getting a belly rub, and confirm your death.” Alistair grins at him, straightening up and tucking the bag into his breast pocket.

“Thanks for all the help, Cassie.” He pats Castiel on his cheek, and Castiel flinches away. He wonders if they intend on letting Dean go in order to do this, which will prove stupid since Castiel can just take him and run. Unfortunately, as Alistair waltzes out the door, six thugs approach, two of which are his own siblings, Uriel and Raphael. Uriel and Raphael do the honors, taking him by the arms and leading him out the door and into their car. He could try to struggle, but Raphael and Uriel were trained just as well as he was, and there are just too many to fight off.

            When they reach the car, instead of shoving him in the back seat, they pop the trunk, and Uriel produces a rag drenched in the strong, yet familiar scent of chloroform. Cas struggles, but is eventually sedated and stowed in the small compartment.

 


	12. Lets Have Some Fun, Dean-o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets to play with some of his favorite prisoners, and Dean is forced to tell Castiel the truth. Castiel must face the consequences of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Sherlockian_Vortex!! <3
> 
> Sorry this took so long! Life has been insane and rather cruel. Anyway, I might need to rework the last two chapters. I found a fic that was so incredibly identical to my plot that I think I have to change mine. So, that will take me awhile to get figured out. In the mean time, I will try and finish this fic. I'm planning another smut chapter, a bit more explicit, and a pining chapter. Thanks so much for reading, sorry about my lack of scheduled posting. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at thursdaysmorningstar (current) or deandeanthekillingmachine (previous) (I havent decided which to stick with yet). 
> 
> Thanks so much! Also, Kudos and Comments are appreciated! Especially comments! I would love to hear your thoughts, or constructive criticisms!! If there is something you would like to see happen, tell me! It might happen. :D

Dean awoke strapped to a coroner’s table. Disturbing as that was, he was more concerned by his apparent nakedness and the thugs guarding what appeared to be the door to the small room he was in. If he had to take a guess, Dean would say he was trapped in a small storage room in a warehouse, perhaps just downtown from his apartment. It had that sort of look, the kind of place that had been long abandoned and neglected. Graffiti covered the walls, dirt caked the floors, and the fluorescent lights buzzed and cut out briefly every so often.

Dean had no choice but to admire the disgusting ceiling above him, which was covered in some sort of slime or mold, cracked and broken looking. His arms and legs were strapped down, and although he was for the most part completely exposed, his captors had apparently allowed him to keep his boxers on. _Thank god for small miracles_ , he thought a tad hysterically. Hours passed with no one coming or going and nothing happening. There was a fly buzzing around the light, hanging just above him, and he watched it fly around.

That was about as interesting as it got. Instead, Dean was left to his own thoughts and worries. He figured it would be at least a few hours before anyone noticed he was gone and probably about 24 hours before anyone got worried enough to look. Although, he didn't know how long he had been out for. He could have been asleep anywhere from a half hour to three or four hours. There was just no way of knowing. He hoped someone, Bobby or Sam, would try and call him, and get worried enough by his lack of response to come find him.

Although, it was not for his own safety he was worried, but for Cas’s. He didn't know if the note left for him telling him Cas had been taken was real or not, and it was killing him. But if he had been taken, the chances were pretty good Cas had been too. Dean began to shake with tension and worry, straining against his bonds. He began sweating slightly, although it was very cold in the room. He lifted his head to stare down the guards, who refused eye contact and continued to ignore him completely. Struggling slightly, Dean rattled the chains holding him down. He couldn't help but feel like the fact that he was chained to an autopsy table, stainless steel with a built in drainage system, was a bad sign.

An indeterminate amount of time passed while he waited for something to happen. Feeling light headed he drifted in and out of awareness. Whatever they had used to take him made him feel ill. His head was pounding and his heart was fluttering, though that could be because he feared Cas’s fate.

Every few minutes he could hear the sound of boots stomping past the door. Each time they passed by it made his heart stutter and his pulse pound. Goosebumps rippled over his body.

Around three hours later, give or take an hour, he opened his eyes to see the stainless steel door creaking open. Two black clad men in expensive looking suits dragged an unconscious Cas into the room. He drooped between them, feet dragging on the ground. He wore his favorite tan trench coat and a bruise to the side of his face the size of Montana. Though he was dizzy and vision blurry, Dean struggled to sit up violently. His chains rattled against the table. He needed to get to Cas. His drug hazed mind looped endlessly, _get to Cas, get to Cas, Cas, get to Cas, save him, Cas, CasCasCa-_

The door slammed shut behind the men, and one of the previously impassive guards went to the back of the room, behind Dean where he couldn’t see a damn thing, and began dragging another table around next to the first. They tossed Cas on the table and began stripping him. Dean caught sight of a large bruise on his ribs, noting its rather new coloring and felt his blood heat up in rage. Cas’s body may be very scared, but Dean had decided the moment he had seen them that he would never let anyone add another to his collection. And now these fuckers were hurting him and Dean couldn't do a damn thing to stop them.

The door creaked open again, and a tall man with short salt and pepper hair and scruff waltzed in like he owned the place.

“Hello again, Dean-o. My name is Alistair, I’m sure you know who I am. I certainly know who you are.” As it turned out, he did own the place. Dean was face to face with the man they had been hunting for at least a decade now. The most ruthless of the Novak-Milton’s, a killer comparable to the great serial killers of their age, Alistair needed no last name. He was like Prince, or Madonna. Or Hannibal. Everyone knows just who he was, but never what he looked like. And here he was, before Dean’s drug-blurred eyes. Dean glared and stopped struggling. Cas was naked and completely restrained. They had used far more chains and cuffs with Cas than they had with Dean, and Dean was mildly offended.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, my dear. You seem more lucid now. When we chatted earlier you were rather… loopy. Yet very convicted in your beliefs. You refused to believe Lover Boy here was dead. So… what’s a kidnapper to do?” He laughed delightedly. “Obviously, I had to do it right in front of you. Bet you’ll believe me then.” Alistair approached the still unconscious Cas, standing between the tables. One of the suited goons wheeled a surgeon’s table up next to him, and Alistair immediately selected a small syringe, like the kind found in hospitals. With ease, he stick in into Cas’s limp elbow and emptied it into his bloodstream. Dean began whimpering around his gag. Screaming had done nothing but make him cough and Alistair giggle.

Cas let out a wet, strangled gasp and thrashes on the table. Goon number two moved behind him to grab his head, slamming it down on the table and putting a gag similar to the one on Dean’s face on him. His chest heaved and he broke out in a sweat; whatever Alistair gave Cas was having some nasty effects. Meanwhile, Alistair watched Dean react, thrashing on the table. Dean pulled so hard on his wrists, the cuffs began to cut into his flesh, and a small trickle of blood dripped down his fingers. Dean didn't even notice, turned on his side to face Cas, and tears of anger began to pool in his eyes.

The logical portion of his mind was overridden by the sheer panic. Cas looked over at him, breathing like a racehorse still, muscle spasms racking his body. Whatever Alistair injected clearly wasn't safe for use on people. Cas’s pupils were dilated completely and his eyes were cloudy and unfocused. Dean noticed that despite the pain clearly painted across his face, Cas managed to remain silent somehow.

The well-dressed Novak-Milton’s nodded politely at Alistair, who opened the door for them. The door guards resumed their place after Alistair shut the door behind them.

“Well, I’ve got an appointment in an hour, but until then I’m free to play for a bit. What do you say Cas? How about we have some fun, just like the old days? Bet your new boyfriend will last longer than the last one. What was his name? Jack? Josh? Ah, well, not like it matters. I’ll just call him Blondie.” Alistair picked over his knives again, handling them like his own precious children.

“He only lasted an hour. Although, I do believe that was Luci’s fault. If they’d listened to me, we could have drawn it out for _days._ You of all people, Castiel, know how good I am at making things last.” He shot a grin at Cas, who shuddered.

“Well,” Alistair picked up an elaborate bone handled butcher’s knife. He fell into place, the usually awkward, yet unassuming man seemed to grow a foot taller and glide through the air when he had a knife in his hand. He gently held it up to Cas’s neck. He ran it up and down, just grazing Cas, and Dean jerked in the cuffs and growled, ignoring the pain lancing through his arms. Alistair’s black eyes glittered as they looked over at Dean.

“See, Castiel, he is a puppet. I can pull his strings just so. See how lovely he reacts.” Alistair’s eyes closed, a sick smile distorting his features. He inhaled deeply. “You can just _smell_ his desperation.” Alistair giggled again, a high-pitched nasal sound more likely to be heard from a teenage girl.

“Blondie had this… almost fruity scent to him. It was delectable. After he was restrained, it changed to an almost spicy scent. He was a feisty one, just like Dean-o here.” He leaned down, knife still poised for cutting, to whisper in Cas’s ear,

“Though, he still broke. So easily. He was a crier, a beggar, and a child. Nothing like you were, Cassie. None of your stoicism to challenge me. My knives carved him up just like they did you. I made sure to adorn him with your mark, just before he died. He knew what it was, I made sure of that.” Alistair stood back up. Cas heard every word, but refused to react. His body knew what happened when he reacted to Alistair, and he was not going to go there. It was better to just take it. It hurt, but it would hurt far more to give Alistair what he wanted. Castiel would not beg. He left, abandoning his body on the table to be carved up like a thanksgiving turkey. He floated away, out, anywhere but there. He heard Alistair laugh.

“You think you escape me by doing your idiotic coma act? You can't. I know you can hear me.” Alistair cackled at the last statement. “That’s why I won't be touching you tonight.” The knife left Castiel’s jugular abruptly, the cold steel leaving behind an angry red mark.

“Mmm, Dean Winchester.” Dean knew his eyes went wide with fear, head whipping over to look at Castiel. Cas, warm, vibrant, Cas. He was staring at the stained ceiling, not entirely paying attention, but as Alistair approached Dean, his head swiveled to make eye contact with Dean. His blue eyes were wide, wild, and afraid. The anger simmered below the surface, and as his eyes flicker over to Alistair and back, Dean could see the steel in them, the conviction and hatred. Dean hated it; this was what he must have looked like when he worked for them: feral.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, my dear.” Alistair set the knife on the table, and bent down to whisper in Dean’s ear,

“We know who you are, son of John. Brother of Sam, Officer of the Law, sworn to protect and uphold, yadda, yadda, yadda.” The world dropped away from Dean. This was it. His cover had been blown. He needed to get out, lest he be killed… But Cas. He couldn't leave him. And he couldn't let him be killed either, even if the jig was up.

“We’ve known you’ve been poking into us for a while now. Hell, Crowley even wanted to take you out, didn't like you in his club. But… you were so close to Cassie. I convinced the boss man to stop him. I thought we might all have some fun together. Seems I was right.” Alistair was between them, blocking Castiel’s view. Dean’s eyes flicked over the top of his head to see Cas straining to listen, and looking furious. His eyes looked like they could be burning a hole in Alistair’s head with the force of his gaze.

“You know…” Alistair picked up a knife, a small one this time, with a wicked looking serrated edge. He walked down towards Dean’s legs, trailing the cold steel along his torso casually.

“You know, I always wanted to do this to your dad. He was my… goal, you could say. He was a thorn in my side for years, but then he had to go and have a heart attack before I could play with him for a bit. So now I get the son. I find it very fitting.” Castiel’s eyes were flashing suspiciously back and forth between Alistair and Dean, but Dean can't take his eyes off Castiel, no matter what provoking thing Alistair said about his father. Alistair was just trying to get under his skin, and Dean couldn't let him. When they make eye contact, Dean turned his eyes pleading, asking for Castiel to understand and to not hate him.

Suddenly, a searing pain ran through Dean’s left hand. Alistair was standing there, calmly raising his small knife away while Dean breathed, chest heaving from the pain and shock. He looked down, but there was too much blood in the way. He looked up in horror just in time to see Alistair…

To see Alistair _lick_ _the blood off._ Just a tiny flick of the tongue, just a drop. Dean watched, stomach rolling as Alistair wrinkled his nose.

“Not my taste. I expected something more… smoky tasting. I much prefer Cassie over there. Such a sweet taste. Like candy.” He smiled, a demented, wide-eyed smile. Dean focused on the pain, and then just focused on staring at Castiel, who was struggling wildly against his bonds. His mouth was working against his gag; muffled screams of rage and anger making him seem animalistic. He looked ready to tear Alistair apart. Dean panted harshly.

A knock rung out on the door. Alistair went to answer it, then turned back, smiling slightly.

“Well, it's time for my new tattoo, if you gentlemen will excuse me.” He nodded to Dean and then Castiel, who growled and thrashed in response. Dean just panted tiredly, watching Castiel.

“Take off their gags, please, after I go.” Alistair instructed the guards. He then went over to Castiel, and forced him to stop struggling by grabbing ahold of his jaw. After he made sure Castiel and Dean were both listening, he said,

“Be sure to talk about your secrets now, boys. I know you have a lot of them. It would really be best for you to tell each other everything before I come back. If you don't, well, Ill do it for you, which will be far less pleasant. Ciao, my darlings.” And with a wink and a nod, he was gone, and the guards were removing the gags.

“Cas!” Dean rasped immediately after his was removed. Castiel just glared at the guard till he resumed his post before relaxing and facing Dean.

“Dean.” Dean shivered at hearing his name said with such cool indifference. He supposed he always knew just who Castiel was, even before they got into this mess, but he had really thought this version of Castiel hadn't existed anymore. His spark of hope faded, but as he watched Cas, Cas’s eyes softened while watching Dean, and even dropped into something resembling worry. His eyes flicked back to the guards for an instant, betraying his reasons for being distant. They were not alone, and in the presence of what amounted to babysitters. Or spies. They could not speak freely here, Dean understood.

“How is your hand?” Castiel asked, concern flashing in his eyes and his voice and warming Dean from head to toe. His Cas was not yet lost to the monster re-invoked by Alistair. His hope rekindled.

“Hurts. But not too bad. He wanted it to be superficial. Bloody and painful, but not damaging or fatal. Are you al- alright?” His voice cracked at the last word, betraying his desperation. He was on the verge of panicking inside, but struggled to keep it under wraps. He was a professional. He had been trained for this. He cannot panic; it would only make things worse.

“I am fine. Hazy in the mind, but fine. I am so sorry Dean. This is all my fault and I never should have let myself involve you.” Cas broke completely, ignoring the guards and confessing in a genuine manner. Dean felt sick.

“No, no. Cas. Babe, it isn’t you at all. I know everything. I-”

“No! Dean! You can't know anything about me. I come from them! I used to be Alistair! You don't understand! They were my family and I’ve gotten you involved! This is like Jimmy all over again! They killed him, you know? Because I loved him. And that’s why I was out, and done, and never going to love again, but now I’ve done it again, no one can be close to me without dying. I am so sorry, Dean.” Cas ranted without breathing, and Dean had no choice but to let him. A crazed look of pain and anger and self-loathing painted Cas’s face into something ugly as Dean watched, helpless. Cas’s eyes spaced out and he began mumbling to himself. Dean worried he broke himself.

“Castiel Charles Novak, 18 years old. Born on December 24th 1995 at about midnight. The youngest son of Naomi Shurly, your biological father was a journalist named Charles Shurly, presumed dead in the year of his son’s birth at the hands of Naomi. Adoptive father named Metatron Novak, brother of Naomi and husband of Eve Milton, who is the mother of Gabriel Milton, 29 years old, a Gemini and student at the University, like you, despite his age. His sister Anna Milton is 24, and a social activist, redhead, and one feisty lady. Both are outcasts from the Milton-Novak clan, like you. You have two half brothers, Michael and Lucifer, who are your older biological brothers by you're mother’s side, and whose father is unknown. They are twins, blond, vicious, and both certifiably insane.

You, Castiel Novak, were trained to kill and interrogate from the cradle. At thirteen you made your first confirmed kill. A man who was a bookie for a rival coke-dealing cartel. He was rather innocent. Cops couldn't link it to you in a more concrete way than circumstantial, but it’s the first case they have any student read up on if they want to study the infamous Silent Killer. As a living legend and serial killer, you continued your service until you were seventeen, when the brutal murder of a local college student was thought to be you're work, due to the angel wing pattern, which had become you're signature cut. A week later, a cousin of the family, Samandriel Shurly, 14 years old, was found dead. Three days later, Gabriel and Anna Milton were back in town, and a new identity was formed for their brother, Castiel Novak, who began attending college. Despite not changing ones name, few recognized you as the suspected Silent Killer, which, to be honest I always thought wasn't a great super villain name. They shoulda called you, like… I dunno. Something really ominous sounding.”

Cas was staring at him, eyes wider than he had ever seen, and his face drained of all color. Silence fell, rather awkwardly. Dean shifted uncomfortably before continuing.

“I bet you're wondering how I know this. Or maybe your not. Maybe you know already. Anyway, I’m going to get there eventually.” He rolled a bit to face Cas as much as he could. This was important, and he needed Cas to see that.

“Cas Novak, boyfriend of Dean Winchester of like, I dunno, two months? Seems like years, really. Anyway, Cas is… not a ruthless killer. You… God I'm bad at this… uh, you love things really well. You said you didn't think you were ever going to do it again, but you do it every day. You are more than capable of it. The way you care so much about everyone you meet, the way you can't turn away animals, even if they've clearly got fleas and I was fucking allergic Cas! How could you keep that obnoxious furball?! Well, because you have compassion. You couldn't let it starve. You have a huge heart, and you're really freaking adorable and you are a total genius in school and I really freaking need you and I wouldn't if you didn't need me too, and I…

I think. I think that even though you were a monster for a really long time, and I hated you for a long time, when I met you, and then fell in love with you, I found you were far more human than anything else. You have nightmares, Cas. You feel such a heavy guilt for your past that you make yourself physically sick. Not that that’s good cause it ain’t. You need to be healthy and deal with you're issues, which, yeah, I know is pretty rich coming from me, but still. Cas. You do this thing with your nose when you drink your tea and you laugh at my shitty jokes and you cry when someone on TV dies and you are so human now. You aren't that person you were.

And I'm a shit person for lying to you for so long. I knew all along exactly who you were. I didn't know who you are, I had to learn that. But you… you never knew who I was. And you only learned a fraction of who I am.”

“Dean what the hell are you talking about?” Cas interrupted him.

“I'm not who you thought I was. Cas… my name is Detective Winchester, of the Police Department. I am not a grad student, nor a Religious Studies Major. When I saw your scars, you asked why I didn't react. This is why. I knew they would be there, because I knew who you were and who your family is.”

            There was a heavy silence. Castiel’s mouth snapped shut, and glued itself in a thin line. He resumed his study of the ceiling while his mind whirled. He could vaguely hear Dean frantically speaking, but he was done listening for a bit. He needed some processing time.


	13. A Plan and a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas formulates an escape plan and Dean experiences... /feelings/ *shudder*, and Alastair? Well, he's having a fucking ball with all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for my abrupt and unplanned 7 month hiatus. Life fucking sucks. But anyway, I'm back on the good 'ol writing horse or whatever shitty metaphor ya wanna use.  
> So, yeah. This has actually been pretty fun to write, despite everything. And I hope you enjoy it. I will hopefully finish this story pretty soon, and then move onto another project before school starts up again.  
> Beta credit as well as your-the-best-friend-ever credit as well as your-the-only-reason-this-chapter-happened credit goes to the ever lovely and brilliant Sherlockian-Vortex!! I probably couldn't spell my own name without you, let alone plot out a novel or three. Thanks a billion.
> 
> Follow me at deandeanthekillingmachine at tumblr dot com please!   
> AND SERIOUSLY. PLEASE COMMENT AND OR KUDOS. I NEED FEEDBACK LIKE I NEED WATER OKAY. IF I GET NO FEEDBACK, I WILL THINK Y'ALL DONT LIKE IT VERY MUCH. WHICH, I MEAN, YOU MIGHT NOT... BUT I HOPE YOU DO LIKE IT... YEah... ok. Just- please comment with constructive criticism or general enthusiasm.

He felt anger and betrayal and most of all pain. This had been what Alistair had wanted. It was something he hadn't gotten last time. Jimmy had never known who Cas was, and had never been able to hurt him like this. But then all that anger and pain faded away. On the one hand, Cas felt relief. At least when Jimmy loved him, he had loved an illusion. Dean actually loved him despite his past, apparently. It made the entire situation about ten times worse. If, or when, he lost Dean he wouldn't be able to deal with it by saying he hadn't actually been loved by the man, because for the first time in his life, he had been loved. For real. And all this time he had thought Dean couldn't possibly love him, he had been wrong. The monster inside had been accepted and even changed by Dean.

Dean thought Cas was the compassionate one?! Well, he had clearly not been paying attention to himself. Cas knew he should respond to Dean, let him know how moved Cas was, and how much he loved him back, despite the lies and deceptions, but he just couldn't shut off his brain for five minutes. It suddenly all made sense. How reluctant Dean was to talk about his family, how sometimes he would randomly refuse hugs or intimacy, but only when he wore that baggy black button down shirt, and even how he answered his phone, with a military esq greeting of “Winchester” and he was always taking his calls in private. For fucks sake he had a _beeper._ No one but doctors and cops still used those. Cas had thought these were simply quirks, but now he saw Dean had been hiding his guns from him- literally. Now the radar device on the Impala’s windshield made sense. Everything about the last few months came crashing apart in Castiel’s mind. He had to re-examine every moment of their relationship with this new contextualizing information, changing everything.  

Even though this changed much of their past, and Cas felt deceived, there was one thing for certain. His secret, for Alistair had said they both harbored secrets, was yet to be told. But if the secret he had been referring to was what Cas thought it was, then they were really screwed, because after Dean’s deception revelation, his secret could not be told. It was shameful. Embarrassing. Who falls in love with a lie? Idiots. Like him.

But the fact remained that he was head over heels for Dean. He could not, under any circumstances let him be hurt by Castiel’s mistakes. This was his fuck up, and so he needed to fix that. He had taken Dean under his protection, and now he needed to keep his promise.

About a forty minutes had passed since Alistair had given his ultimatum, and Cas was worried. With the guards in the room, no one was going to do any talking. Or escaping. Suddenly, a little too conveniently, the one on Cas's left got a text, and they both lumbered out of the room without a word. This was either very bad, or a gift from the gods.

Dean was still rambling in the background, begging for forgiveness and professing his love. The leather restraints could not be ripped, and there were no locks he could pick to get out of them. He tugged at the leather around his wrists, writhing his body side to side. The leather across his chest started to burn, leaving an uncomfortable rash. From the corner of his eye he spotted the rolling table of surgical tools, and suddenly an idea sparked.

He stopped struggling. The gears started turning in his mind, and he started half listening to Dean who was still rambling on about their first date or something. Carefully and slowly, so that Dean wouldn't notice, he began to twist and pull at his right wrist restraint.

“And really, I mean, I never meant to lie, but it’s my job, ya know? And do you remember that bookshop? And you asked if my brother was a fan of the author? Well, he was the author. So… so, I was sort of worried about blowing my cover, and I didn't really know you then, so- God, Cas, are you even listening right now??” Dean’s voice steadily rose in pitch and volume until he was frantically yelling. Cas whipped his head over and took in Deans red face, and puffy eyes, the tear tracks down his cheeks and the restless clenching of his hands. Eyes wide, Cas whispered,

“Dean. Shh.” Dean’s mouth snapped shut, though his chest still heaved and his eyes flickered in distress.

“Dean I need you to be quiet. Do you hear me?” Cas kept talking to distract Dean, but the pain was rising, and his voice began to wobble. A tear leaked out of his eye as they watered in pain.

“I- I can't tell you what he wants me to tell you, Dean. I'm so sorry. Maybe if we get out of here-”

“When, Cas. When we get out of here.” Dean interrupted him, voice hoarse.

“Okay, when. When we get out, maybe then. You don't know Dean, you just- I can't- Ahh, fuck!” Cas lost his train of thought as his wrist snapped. The steady pressure he had applied to pull it through the cuff had done its job. The tears flowed freely now, but he just ignored them, and he focused past the pain. He removed his wrist from the cuff, and reached over delicately to his left wrist. He wiggled his fingers to make sure they were still functional. It hurt severely, but they were usable, thankfully. He undid the buckle on the left cuff, hand trembling from the pain, and a slow trickle of blood from where the skin broke making his fingers slippery. When he had loosened the left cuff enough, he used the good hand to loosen the right cuff, and then he undid the chest strap. He sat up, and although he felt woozy and the room spun he turned to the surgical table between them and selected a brutal looking scalpel. He kept it in his good hand, lay back on the table, re positioned the chest strap to look like it was still on, and slipped his hands through the now loose cuffs. He kept his scalpel hidden in his good right hand.

Turning back to Dean, he saw him staring at him, slack jawed, awe and disbelief written across his face.

“What?” Cas just raised an eyebrow.

“You- That- What…” Dean, ever the cunning linguist, struggled to verbalize himself.

“Look, we don't have much time. He said about an hour? I’d say it’s been at least fifty minutes already. I'm going to do something Dean. And I need you to trust me, and I need you to follow my lead, okay? I know I don't des-”

“Excuse YOU!” Dean interrupted. He wrenched his whole body back over so he was facing Cas, who froze, mouth open and eyes wide.

“You're making an escape plan, and you _don't even tell me?_ What- you think I can't handle it? Cas, I'm a cop. An undercover cop with years of experience. If I wasn't so goddamn in love with you I wouldn't've panicked at all!” Dean’s chest heaved after yelling. After he calmed back down, he added, “Fuck you. You think you're the only one to ever handle a gun or have to kill someone. Fuck you. You made me love you, you fucking psycho!”

For a solid minute it was silent. Cas had no idea how to respond. He thought rather hysterically that he must look like a goldfish, mouth opening and shutting noiselessly. 

“So what’s the plan?” Dean sounded gruff, voice a little hoarse after yelling.

“Um, I’d say there’s, 5 minutes left… Um, well, I was gonna kill them, and then leave. Then attack the source of the problem, Metatron. After he’s dead you're safe. Aaannd… that’s about it.” Silence fell for a few seconds, and then he added, “I was going to say I didn't deserve your trust. And if I don't deserve your trust, I certainly don't deserve your love. And I’ll be honest here, I never really did Dean.”

Neither of them is making eye contact now, staring at the cracks and stains on the moldy ceiling.

“Well, you don't get to decide that. I fucking love you. Get over it. Now get over here and untie me. If you get to kick some Alistair ass, I get to kick some Novak-Milton ass.” The look on Dean’s face brooked no arguments, though Cas desperately wanted to. But would he really be safer just sitting there, strapped to the table and unable to defend himself? No, he needed a weapon as well. So Cas sat up and swiftly undid his cuffs, just like his, this time thinking clearly enough to undo the feet as well. Despite the tremor from the drugs they used on him and his broken wrist, his hands were swift and efficient, and he was back in his restraints in two minutes tops. It was painful, but he'd definitely had worse.

They had one minute left. It was now or never. Cas began to sweat. He couldn't do this. He just couldn't. He wasn't even supposed to be capable of any feeling at all, let alone this.

He was always, and always had been defective. In his own family, he felt too much. They valued no emotions and cruelty over everything else. In the real world, he had too few emotions; he was too broken to function to their standards. Maybe he could put on a good act and blend relatively well, but that was only short term. He simply wasn't stable enough emotionally for the long term. Or at least, he wasn't supposed to be. But Dean, Dean gave him hope and he made him feel things. He felt things other than the helpless pain and numbness he was accustomed to. The last few months had been… the best of his life. He was free- in more ways than simply physically. Dean gave him the strength to spread his wings. Without Dean, he was just a penguin, but with him, they were falcons. There was no doubt in his mind he loved the stubborn, macho dork on the table next to him with his whole being. And Alistair knew this too.

But after this, would Dean really still love him? Sure he said he did now, but this was in the midst of a dire situation where they may or may not live. What would he say after, if they survived? Cas just couldn't conceive him forgiving being put into this situation. Mostly because he wouldn’t forgive himself. He could forgive Dean anything, even lying to him for their entire relationship. But he was not as kind hearted or well meaning as Dean. He had done bad things with bad intentions and that made him unforgivable in his eyes.

But for Dean to find this out from Alistair was a sick perversion. Cas couldn't let him ruin something as miraculous as his feelings for Dean. Because that’s what Alistair did; he destroys everything, sucking the life from it like a dementor.

Though he thought about it quickly, it wasn't fast enough, as their last minute was up, and footsteps echoed down the hallway. The goons re-entered through the screeching door, and Cas found he had to stop staring into Dean’s eyes. Dean didn't move. Every freckle in his irises and across his face was memorized long ago, but Cas needed one last look, just in case. As they had spent their last minute locked in a staring match, Dean had calmed, his breathing evened out, and the panic faded finally from his eyes. Cas could detect nothing but love, and a slight hint of desperation for that to be conveyed. It felt like his heart was exploding and his body dissolving into stardust. If they died, he would never leave this world. He would carry the guilt of not telling Dean the truth forever. He looked away, focusing on the threat.

His mind cleared of everything. He knew he had to do it, but it hurt. Impossible though it was, he forced himself to forget Dean was in the room at all. He narrowed his world down to him and the black-eyed demon standing before him. No thoughts, no emotions, no distractions. His mind fell into a meditative loop. His only objective left was to kill. His only thought left was to kill. Just because he turned off his thought didn't mean he stopped being intelligent, however. He knew he needed to be smart about how to do this. But any extra sounds, smells, tastes, thoughts, or feelings were eliminated.

And by black-eyed demon, he was not exaggerating. Alistair’s ‘tattoo’ had apparently been done on the extremely unconventional place of his cornea. Surrounding his dark brown, nearly black irises and his black pupils, the black ink injected into the flesh of his eye gave him the appearance of a demon straight from hell. Which, Cas supposed, was the point exactly. How this hadn't killed his eyes or caused him any irritation at all, Cas couldn't understand, but he decided this wasn't important. He quickly adapted to the changed appearance, killing the shock effect, and eliminating that possible advantage over him. He decided it was irrelevant, and his brain discarded the change, focusing on the large bone saw in Alistair’s hands instead, and the crazed look on his face.

Dean on the other hand, started flipping out. But to Cas, this was an unimportant sound. So he tuned it out in favor of the goon shifting to stand behind him, and from the sounds of his shoes, he was about five feet away and to the left. Likewise, there was one taking place next to Dean, making the room symmetrical. Goons in all four corners, and Alistair in the middle of everything. Quickly Cas calculated their chances. If he counted on Dean to take care of the two goons closest to him, and he quickly took out the two near him, he could focus on taking out Alistair. But the time it would take to eliminate the two guards would leave him and Dean open to Alistair. He needed a way of delaying Alistair’s response time.

While Cas desperately calculated the fuck out of the situation searching for a solution, Alistair sat on a stool he’d dragged over to Cas’s tableside. Cas refused to give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him. His senses were sharp enough that he could tell where and what he was doing without seeing it. The puff of air over his ear told him Alistair had reached for something on the surgical table, and the change in his breathing as it increased in speed told him Alistair was preparing to do something terrible, and he was getting excited just thinking about it. He could hear the smile in his voice when he finally said,

“It’s been the hour I gave you. So… who did what they were told, and who do I have to _punish_?” Cas could see without trying the way Alistair would curl his lips around the word ‘punish’. For him, it was not a negative concept, instead bringing the sadist pleasure. This was no secret, and Cas could hear his happiness in saying it. Neither of the prisoners responded.

“Well, let me take a guess then.” He scooted over to Dean, who was faking his stoicism pretty well, but not well enough to fool an expert like Cas or Alistair.

“Dean, my dear. My new protégé. I would never harm you, you know. I want to keep you, train you up. I think you’d like it. All the power that comes with it. Although, I’m going to have to break that little righteous streak you’ve got. That could get in the way.” Alistair chuckled, and Cas felt cold. The sick fuck wanted to do to Dean what he had done to him. It was almost too much, he almost stabbed the son of a bitch in the neck, but he didn't. It would mess everything up if he played his hand too early. He needed a better plan.

“ You would be the best of us. I’ve never seen such raw talent in someone before, not since Cassie here. See, I think my theory is right.” He scooted closer to Dean.

“I think you're righteous streak made you fess up. I bet you were sick with guilt over what you were hiding from him. I bet all it took was the little pressure I made for you to… spill you're guts, as they say.” Like a snake, he slithered even closer. The nasally lisp didn't make him seem any more human than his movements either.

“And I bet after your… confession, Cas here was so overwhelmed! He couldn't tell you the truth.” Alistair made his voice overly dramatic and high-pitched, and he clutched his heart.

“You are both so easy! So easy to manipulate. I know you're secrets, and that’s one thing. But on top of that you're in love!?! I only need one or the other to destroy you, but you’ve provided me with _both_!” He sat up and scooted back over to Cas. He rested his arms on the raised edge of the table.

“So, Cassie. Care to share with the class? I’ve got two secrets on your tab, and believe me, it will be more painful if I tell them than if you just get it over with. Fast, like ripping off a band aid.” His black orbs glittered maliciously. A manic grin spread as Cas refused to respond.

“Checking out again, eh? You can't run forever. Eventually it’ll all catch up with you. You’ll crack like an egg.” He sighed.

“Well, okay then. Its story time, boys! Dean, I'm going to tell you a side of the... past events that isn’t known by anyone. Just Cas, and me. And then I’m going to tell you something that both of you know, but refuse to admit to yourselves. Sound good? Alrighty.” He points at Cas, “Gag him, please.”

One of the goons ties a rag around his head, gagging him. He doesn't react.


	14. Escape to Witch Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean escape. Blah, drama, blah. Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lizzie, aka Sherlockian-Vortex, for being my beta. All the credit to her for taking my sucky attempt at poetic prose and making it into that beautiful poem at the beginning. She is a GENIUS! Please follow us both on tumblr dot com, at sherlockian-vortex and deandeanthekillingmachine. We really appreciate it. 
> 
> Please COMMENT. Please.  
> Fyi, theres about two or three more chapters left. All of them will be extra fluffy, extra smutty, and extra crack-y. I will either make you "Aww!", or laugh, or moan. Heck, maybe all three. But hopefully not all at once.
> 
> Bon apetit!

_Cas was the Alp Mountain Range._

His ribs stuck out harshly. The divots between them were shadowed valleys deep enough for anyone to get lost in.

_He was the Orion constellation._

No- forget the single constellation- he was the whole damn Milky Way. On the darkest nights he was the band of bright pinpricks lighting up the sky, guiding Dean home.

_He was the Amazon River._

He was a conundrum, a backwards flowing river on a planet where water only moved south.

_He was the Battleship Galactica._

He moved as sure of himself as a futuristic warship, and he was filled with all the hope for and faith in humanity as possible. He could never be confused for a cylon because he was so undeniably human now.

_He was the Polynesian Isles._

Across the ocean of his skin, scars were a myriad of islands. Each important to who he was, but no single one defining him- not even the wings on his back.

**_ Dean was drowning in it all. _ **

 

* * *

 

He lay on the autopsy table like a corpse. Pale and motionless, the harsh fluorescent lighting cast shadows across his naked body, highlighting his blue and purple bruising and his bones. They stuck out. His skeleton seemed exposed. It was like a survival tactic. In order to minimize flesh wounds, his body minimized his flesh.

Perhaps the worst part of it all was his face. His hair was matted down close to his skull, and his cheekbones, which were typically prominent due to his strong bone structure, looked like weapons. The skin was drawn so tight over them, Dean worried he would cut his own face from the inside. Then again, Dean was approaching hysterical with his anxiety over the situation.

Forget twenty years of military and combat training and forget five years of police detective work and three total years of undercover work. Forget that his Dad taught him to shoot when he was barely six years old, putting a gun in his hand at seven and telling him to guard Sammy in case Alistair or the Novak-Milton’s decided to hurt them in retaliation for John’s work. Forget it all. None of his special training told him how to shut off his heart. He was not trained in how to be an emotionless robot like Cas was. He couldn't just ‘check out’ like Cas was.

It was a goddamn miracle Dean was able to love Cas at all, and now the little shit was about to die? No freaking way. This was just the story of his life, wasn't it? He finally finds his equal, someone just as if not more screwed up than him, and then he almost loses them?

So maybe it went against every logic and all of his training, but he couldn't help it. This was _Cas._ His Cas, who was not responding to him, and the longer he talked and tried to explain himself and didn't get any response the more he got freaked out. He wasn't used to this cold, distant Cas. His Cas was such a fantastic listener. Dean barely had to try and struggle through communicating anything. Cas usually just got him.

For the half hour that Dean rambled, hoping to snap him out of his trance, not a single muscle spasmed. Not a single blink of the eyeball, or deliberate movement. His hands shook, but it was involuntary. His eyes were glazed over, and Dean couldn't even tell if it was because he was thinking about things deeply or if he was mentally deranged. His breathing was carefully measured; four beats in, eight beats out. It never changed or wavered.

Until, that is, his whole body suddenly came to life, and he turned and basically told Dean to shut up. And promptly went back into his coma. Which only served to infuriate Dean. So obviously, he didn't shut up, and started to talk louder. Which was of course when Cas decided to fucking self mutilate.

Suddenly he was sitting up, blood dripping from the limp right hand that he was cradling to his chest. He shook his head lightly, and sweat dripped from his raven hair. Dean watched it travel down his back- his back, which he could now see since the skinny little fucker had escaped his bonds by breaking his own bird-bone-like wrist. _What. The. Fuck._

Which was basically what he tried to say, but of course, the shock of seeing one’s gay lover break their own wrist after laying on an autopsy table like a corpse for the better part of an hour does things to one’s communication skills. But then Cas was all, “I'm the baddest bad ass you’ve ever seen, Dean, and you're just a giant panicky pussy who can't defend himself.” Or… something like that. And Dean could just not let that stand. Not only was it not true, but also if Cas thought he was going to be the only one putting his life on the line here he had another thing coming.

So after he shocked both of their pants right off- not that they were wearing any anyway, just boxers at the moment- and called him a ‘fucking psycho’, and Cas released him from his bonds, he was satisfied. Cas may be a mafia trained smug bastard, but he had met his match in Dean. Dean was determined to prove it.

Cas’s plan- for lack of a better phrase- sucked balls. But since Dean couldn’t think of anything better it would have to do. The scalpel was cold in his hand, and he turned it over and over nervously.

When they had maybe a minute or two left, and Cas had still not told him his secret, Dean knew the time for words was over. He had said his piece and done as much as he could. Cas knew Dean loved him. Now he needed to know Dean forgave him. Whatever his secret was, however terrible it could be, he forgave him. He tried to convey this with his eyes, but he was never very good at this romantic bullshit. It was more likely that they were just staring at each other like idiots for no reason at all. But even if that was the case, if this was the last free moment he got with Castiel, he needed to make it worth something.

He needed to savor it, and savor the perpetual five o’clock shadow blanketing his jaw like dark snow, and the midnight blue slivers of his irises surrounding his drug blown pupils. He needed to savor the small bruise, just behind the ear, that he knew for a fact was put there by none of the goons, but by him. Maybe being possessive was wrong, but Dean was glad that not all the bruises on Cas’s body were there from mal-intent, and at least one had come with a bit of pleasure. He heard the boots approaching. And then the Devil himself walked in through that door.

Dean couldn't help it. The mans eyes were _black._ Completely black. Like a dog, or a cat, or a snake, or a hamster, or _the fucking Devil._ Honestly, how was he supposed to react? Like fucking Mr. Comatose over there? Maybe he screamed like a tween in a horror movie, and maybe he started panicking and hyperventilating, and maybe he made some very un-manly like noises, but hey- they were about to be eaten by a maniac with _black eyes_.

Cas was as cool as a cucumber. If this were a Batman movie, Cas would be the stoic, deep-voiced creature of the night, while Dean was beginning to resemble a particularly pathetic and stupidly thrill-seeking version of Gwen Stacey or Lois Lane. He wasn't even a Robin. He mentally slapped himself. Shit, Alistair had been talking, though it was probably some egomaniacal monologue of how smart and undefeatable he was. He should have been paying attention. There was no question Alistair was playing the role of the Joker. Horrific facial mutilation and all.

Realizing this, Dean managed to calm himself down. In The Dark Knight, Batman was able to kill the Joker once and for all… though his love interest did kick off after professing her love for Harvey… maybe this had been a bad metaphor for the situation. In any case, he tuned in just in time for Alistair to say,

“...Sound good? Alrighty. Gag him, please.” And then the bulky suit was tying a rag around Cas’s head while he lay limp. Dean began to sweat. He’d assumed Cas would tell him when they were gonna act, but how would he do that with no way of communication?

“So, back when Cas was my secretary- oh, sorry, my politically correct Personal Assistant- I used him as I was instructed. As my ‘politically correct Personal Pincushion’. For _years_ I told him, ‘If you want this to be over, pick up that knife’. That was all he needed to do. Just… pick it up. And then use it, as I used it on him. He needed to use it with passion, with artistry, with… gusto. He lasted, oh, two years, out of the three I had. But that third year, I cracked him.” Alistair beams with pride, positively glowing and bragging like a parent whose son just got into an Ivy League.

“He tortured so many-”

“That’s not news to me. Get to the ‘big shocker’ part already.” Dean interrupted.

“My, my. Impatient are we? Well, its nothing that bad, I would say. In fact, to me, it’s quite a good thing. But see, to you, the man who sees him on this big pedestal of ‘reformed’, this secret is actually quite devastating. You think that because he feels guilt now for what he’s done, he should be forgiven. You think that since he acts cut up about it- pun intended- now, he felt bad about it then. Well, I'm here to tell you that you're precious Cas _liked it._ He got off that steel table, took up the knife, and cut into people like it was fucking Christmas in July. He tortured souls, and he _liked it._ ” Alistair moved to sit over by Cas, who seemed to sigh and accept his fate. He blinked lethargically up at Alistair.

“So Cas. Look at him, and see how horrified he is. You _disgust_ him.” Alistair grabbed Cas roughly by the chin and forced him to look at Dean. Dean carefully schooled his face into one of neutrality. Maybe he couldn't fool Castiel, but he was damn sure he would never give Alistair the satisfaction of knowing for sure that it had disturbed him. Which it totally hadn't. Nope. No sir. Dean Winchester was a fucking professional, and he could act that way. Alistair began trailing a wicked looking five-inch serrated knife along Cas’s side.

“So, what’s next on the agenda? Oh yes, secret number two. Well, personally, I think this ones a little less climactic, but if it ticks it sticks. Cas, I don't know if you were aware of this, but you are quite enamored with this here officer of the law. So enamored, I would even dare to say you're secret is that you are in lo- ggghchhg-” Suddenly Alistair choked on his own blood. Cas was sitting up, arm extended, and scalpel buried deeply into his carotid artery. This enraged Alistair, and he plunged the knife into Castiel. Cas grunted in pain, and then lunged for a tool from the table between him and Dean. Taking advantage of Alistair howling in pain and the goon’s moment of confusion, Dean leapt up and threw the scalpel into the nearest goon, taking him down. He then quickly stole the gun from the first goon and shot wildly at the second one, taking him down as well.

A few feet away, Cas was struggling with the much larger Alistair as he tried to stop him. Cas seemed to have a large set of surgical steel pliers in his hand, and was trying to... remove the scalpel? As Dean assessed the situation he saw one goon on the ground clutching his manhood and the other recovering enough to lunge at Cas, who rather impressively and precisely kicked backwards at him. Dean was momentarily awestruck with how high Cas could kick, showing of some truly amazing flexibility and strength- the kind that only came from secretly being a ninja or a pro ballerina. Then Dean’s brain caught up with the situation, and he quickly took aim, shooting each of the goons in the back of the knee, shattering them, as they rolled on the ground in pain.

Next he took aim at Alistair, but Cas was in the way. His much smaller frame was certainly not as strong as the bulkier man. Cas was growling like a feral animal, baring his teeth, while Alistair laughed and gurgled and coughed. He was dead either way, but he was clearly determined to take them with him. Soon the blood loss would be enough and would weaken him, but for now, he was fighting them tooth and nail. Alistair’s eyes were rolling back, revealing some of the white tissue left. It was very disturbing.

“Cas! Turn him! I can't get a clear shot!” Dean croaked loudly. Cas just snarled and kept struggling with Alistair.

“Cas! Dammit!” Dean stumbled around the table for a better shot, but Alistair shoved the surgical table in his way, tripping him. It was enough of a distraction though, because Cas finally got the upper hand and ripped the scalpel out of Alistair’s neck. Blood gushed out of it, and Alistair screamed and gurgled. Cas lunged, tackling Alistair. Like an animal, he tore out the neck of his prey, blood spraying across him. His chest heaved, his eyes darted wildly.

“Cas…?” Dean whispered into the suddenly quiet room. No response.

“Castiel?” Dean said louder, while crawling over to him. This time Cas’s head shot up, and he hissed at Dean, crouching protectively over his kill. Dean froze. He put down the gun and shoved it away.

“Cas? I'm not gonna hurt you, babe. I just wanna get out of here, okay?” Dean kept his voice even and soft, like he was talking to a wild and scared animal. Cas started to advance growling at Dean.

“Cas? Cherry Pie? Babe? Castiel?” Dean got more and more panicked. This was _not_ Cas. This was Silence. 

“I need you to come back, man. I need you! We need to get out of here! I need you, Cas! I fucking love you!” Cas froze, inches from Dean’s splayed form lying on the ground. There was a brief staring contest and then Cas put his head down on Dean’s chest and breathed deeply. He sighed and then looked back up. Awareness re-entered his eyes and tears began to take the place of the insanity. He collapsed on top of Dean, body shaking harshly, tremors racking his whole frame. His eyes squeezed shut and then he began to sob in earnest.

            Despite being slightly freaked out, Dean knew Cas had to be way more affected by all this. His love needed him to be there right now, and so Dean sat up, shifted Cas to hold him bridal style and lifted him off the ground. He cradled Cas’s head to his neck, and Cas clung like a koala bear. He kept trembling until after Dean had gotten them out of the building and to the highway. Huffing and puffing, Dean followed it until he saw a cop car. He summoned up the last vestiges of his energy and sprinted towards it. It saw them and pulled over. They were saved.

 

 


	15. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery begins in the hospital (again, ugh), and Dean has some deep realizations about life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first off, Im SO SORRY this is so delayed. I completely lost all motivation to write, and while I should have powered through it, I got distracted by real life experiences. Well, now those experiences have ended, and Im back to being inspired by their epic love. Apparently I can only write when lonely. Ill work on fixing that in the future. 
> 
> ANYWAY, this is finished!!!! FINALLY!!!! Yay!! If you think the ending needs more than the few laughs and smushy fluff I made it, let me know! I appreciate all comments!! Please please please comment. 
> 
> HUGE THANKS TO SHERLOCKIAN-VORTEX. Best Beta ever. And best friend ever. And best person ever. I love you infinitely. She's gonna be a famous writer someday and I cant wait for her to get the worldwide recognition she deserves. ILY BB <3
> 
> PS I DONT CARE if the ending makes no sense at all. IDGAF. It is what it is. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks, and please check out some of my other fics, which I will now start working on again, such as Anywhere, or Night Owls (which was a one-shot, but I'm gonna expand it I think).

Hospitals fucking suck. The sterile smell of antibacterial solution wiped over every surface, the too-cheerful nurses who crack jokes as they stick you with needles and then ask patronizingly if you need help going to the bathroom, the sort-of-okay-but-not-really-real food; it all adds up to a rather unpleasant stay. Not to mention the initial constant vomiting from the anesthetic meds used when he had to have his internal bleeding fixed in his abdomen- which left yet another wicked-looking scar- and the splitting headache from his concussion. Plus they keep sending in psychologists to analyze him for PTSD symptoms. He keeps telling them he won't talk until they send him Pamela, but they just don't seem to listen when he speaks. It’s just plain irritating.

Possibly the only bright light is they finally took off the handcuffs chaining him to the bed, and apparently Dean had yelled and pouted and thrown enough tantrums that they finally listened to him and moved him into Cas’s room. Dean, at least, was allowed to walk, having not had abdominal surgery two days ago, like Cas had. He didn't have any stitches he could rip, but he still couldn't walk without a walker or a nurse helping him. Apparently the meds for his infected hand injury were extremely strong, leaving Dean weak and hobbling like an old woman with a walker. Which Cas and Sam _never_ got tired of poking fun at.

“Heading to bingo down in the geriatrics ward? I heard they have that on Tuesday and Thursday nights on the third floor.” Sam cracks up at Cas’s sarcasm, and Dean who had been making his way across the room to the bathroom stops and glares at him.

“At least I can walk.” He says coolly, before proceeding to inch towards the bathroom. By the time he gets there he is winded and sweating.

“This fucking sucks.” Dean mutters before working up the energy to open the door, and head inside.

“Dean, do you want some he-”

“No! Shut up, bitch.” Dean cuts Sam off as he offers to help.

“Whoa, cool it, jerk. I was just offering.” Sam mutters as he slouches into his chair.

Over the course of the last few days, Sam and Cas have formed a sort of… bromantic alliance. At first Sam had been chilly and suspicious towards Cas. He pulled his ‘7 foot tall badass lawyer’ act, wearing his expensive suits and challenging every move Cas made, every word he said, especially when it came to Dean. Cas understood. Sam loved his brother very much, and wanted to protect him. Cas wished he had someone like that, but all he was stuck with was Gabe and Anna. The former didn't even visit, just sent him a basket that, on the outside, looked like a basket of candy and a teddy bear, but upon closer inspection proved to be filled with lube, condoms of every flavor and variety, and a camera inside the nose of the bear. The note simply read: ‘On a personal mission. Be back in a few days. Have fun and use the condoms. Set up the Teddy in a nice vantage point.’ The latter had simply sent a note saying she was out of town and would visit as soon as possible, but didn't know when it would be.

But for now he was happy. He had Dean by his side, and finally broke the ice with Sam by talking to him about books. Apparently, Sam hadn’t always wanted to be a writer, but actually being a lawyer was his life’s dream. So he had worked hard and gotten into Stanford, but due to financial issues with their Dad, he couldn’t go unless he found some money and fast. Hence, writing his first few novels. They discussed at length their favorite authors, and when Dean hobbled back to his bed next to Cas, they were eyeball deep in a heated discussion of Vonnegut’s influences on Sam’s work. Cas was _insisting_ that Sam, even inadvertently, had channeled some themes and ideas from good ‘ol Kurt, but Sam was being modest and insisting his books had nowhere near that much depth and thought to them. After listening for a minute, Dean barked out a laugh, causing both of his family members to look at him like he was insane.

“Didn't I tell you Sammy? You two are like mirrors of each other. Frickin’ book nerds, the both of you. Now, shut it or take it outside like real men.” And with that, Dean put in his bright pink Hello Kitty headphones, connected with his bright pink iPod, and Cas could hear the soothing, dulcet tones of AC/DC drifting out. He reached between them and took Dean’s hand in his.

They had done it. They had survived. Maybe Metatron and Naomi were still out there, gunning for him, but he had Dean, and no matter what, they would survive. Sam coughed awkwardly after a moment of the intense soul-staring going on. Cas didn't let go, but he did turn away, letting Dean take his nap in peace. After he was asleep, right on cue, Sam said,

“If you hurt him… well, I can't say I’ll hurt you, because I won't. I know Dean is a big boy who can take care of himself. But I can't speak for the rest of our family. Jess, my fiancé, and Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo and Rufus, they will not hesitate to hurt you, and all four of the last ones are cops with guns. And Jess, well, she’s from the mid-west, and went to Stanford with me. She’s smart and can get a little wild and over-protective. Especially of Dean. The two of them… I don't know how I survive it. Once, they teamed up against me- well, they do that a lot actually- and they kept tag-team pranking me for a straight forty-eight hours. I would be at Dean’s and he’d tee-pee my car and glue my hand to the beer bottle and then I’d go home and she’d be spiking my hair gel with glitter, and putting little plastic bugs in our ice cubes, and once they were…” Sam shifted from protective to happily reminiscent.

He rambled on, telling Cas about all the good times they had had. All these stories Dean should have been telling him all along, but couldn't. It almost made Cas sad, but he had forgiven Dean, and they had to move on now. They had to make up for all the lost time, had to catch up to where they were supposed to be. When Sam told a particularly hilarious story, Cas laughed so hard he had tears streaming down his face, and he curled up on his side laughing. This forced him to let go of Dean’s hand, waking him up.

“Wha-? What’s so funny? I say something in my sleep?” Dean struggled to sit up in his bed, blinking blearily, and removing his ear buds. His hair was sticking up straight in all directions and he looked like he had been shocked or electrocuted, and this only made Cas laugh harder.

“Whoa, calm down, Cas. Don't want you to bust a stitch.” Sam stood and rolled him onto his back to help him prevent any painful ripping and bleeding. Cas looked over at Dean, red in the face and tears streaming down the sides of his face.

“Y-you- Ahaha… You think Barbie’s are superior to Poly Pockets? And you got- Pfft, hahaha- you got beat up by a twelve-year-old girl over this? Fuck- I'm going to- Hahaha, oh God, I'm going to die of laughter, Dean.” Dean turned a bright shade of scarlet, and then tried to defend himself, saying,

“Krissy was vicious! She was so not twelve! She was like, thirteen. And Barbies are _way_ better, hands down. I mean, its _Barbie._ She’s like an icon. And I couldn't hit back! She was a girl! A young girl! And the daughter of a hunter. Of course she kicked my ass!” Sam is laughing so hard he has to sit down and Dean throws a wadded up towel at him while scowling.

“Was she the one to give you the ear buds or was that all you?” Cas asks, eyes still shining with mirth, and lips stretched in a big grin. The normally stoic teen looked completely free and happy. Dean relished in this. He soaked up the happy golden vibes coming from Cas. Despite his embarrassment, he knew he would cherish this moment forever. Making Cas this happy was well worth it all. Cas was worth everything to him.

Dean thought back to the time before they had met, back when he was a child. Although he only vaguely remembered his mom, he would never forget her tucking him into bed every night and whispering, “Angels are watching over you.” He realized now that she was right. God may or may not exist, and the afterlife may be uncertain, but in the here and now he was truly blessed to have found friends and family who he loved dearly. Happiness that is sought after never comes. It is those who wait patiently and remain loyal and receptive who receive the gift of love in the end. It’s like a cat. If you chase happiness, it will evade you. If you allow it to come on its own terms, it will stay forever. Cas was his angel, and he was Cas’.

The horrors of day-to-day life may exist. Humanity is never one thing. Its dynamism is awe-inspiring. Those who argue that people are born inherently good or born inherently evil don't understand one thing; all of what makes us autonomous agents is _learned_. This failure in understanding leads to broad generalizing statements like, “I hate people,” or “Humanity is the ultimate species.” These fail to account for the fact that there are billions of people. To say we are all identical when we are born is an interesting assertion, and he’d like to see the proof. Show him a newborn baby that is inherently evil, and maybe he would believe that some are born evil. But also account that that child's parents and family and siblings and community will have an impact on them, and likewise all those people were influenced by those who came before them.

There may be murderers, and rapists, and psychopaths, but there are also artists, social workers, doctors, construction workers, teachers, clergy, college students, white girls with Starbucks, black girls revolutionizing the word ‘curvy’, gay men in their fifties getting married after thirty years of commitment, a lawyer with two children divorcing her lawyer husband for the broke and starving writer down the street. There are neuroscience majors who never sleep, polyamorous gender fluid men and butch lesbian women, there are minimum wage laborers with no family and no reason to keep going, there are abused or terminally ill women meeting every week to find support, there is an infinity of possibilities and situations and cultures and _all of our behavior is learned_ from those we are around. We profoundly influence each other, but that doesn't have to define us.

Dean focuses back on Cas. His angel was born in hell among demons, but he rose above it. Their behavior couldn't corrupt his soul. Dean knows how lucky he is, what a miracle it is for him to have Cas. He knows he won't ever let go.

 


End file.
